


In your care

by Neonbat



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bits of actual history with a SPN twist, Blowjobs, Bottom Dean, Brothers as background characters but they get story too, Castiel being an awkward bean, Doctor Castiel, M/M, Mild Angst, Period Typical Attitudes, Period-Typical Homophobia, Prostitute Dean, first time gay sex, late victorian era
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-13
Updated: 2018-12-12
Packaged: 2019-09-17 08:56:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 24,450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16971615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Neonbat/pseuds/Neonbat
Summary: Castiel is an up and coming doctor dealing with the aftermath of a broken engagement. He doesn't mind, not really, but apparently to those around him he is in dire need of something to distract him. To his brother Gabriel, that, of course, means a whorehouse. An innocuous outing for society men turns into an encounter that leads the lives of not only Castiel and his bought lover, but their brothers are well, down a path none of them ever anticipated.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I loved writing this, I won't lie. I love period pieces xD
> 
> Thanks to lotrspnfangirl for being my beta!!!<3

The raspy, phlegmy breaths of old Mrs Tundel were loud in the still room, even over the sound of Hannah bustling around in the nearby kitchen. 

 

“If you would still yourself —” Castiel heaved a small sigh behind the cover of his cloth mask as he straightened from his task, allowing the woman to shift and wiggle to her heart’s content on the table.

 

“It’s jus’ that… What’s the funny smelling stuff there? Ain’t seen it before. What are you doin’ to me, Doc?” she fussed, jowly face displaying years of hard work to avoid the poorhouse. How the old woman had managed after her husband died, he didn’t know, but she was scraping by. 

 

“It’s a medication.” The lie felt clumsy on his tongue. He didn’t enjoy lying to his patients, but he’d quickly learned that just because this was London, it didn’t mean the latest medical research had trickled down to the common folk just yet. Hardly anyone had heard of phenol yet, and it was still being hotly discussed within his own community. ‘Disinfectant’ was an ugly word to the medical community, especially between tired old coots that couldn’t accept modern medicine was changing every day. 

 

It was dizzyingly exciting trying to keep up. 

 

“That so?” she murmured dubiously, but Hannah, in all her grace, swept in with a fresh brew to set at Tundel’s free hand. 

 

“Here dear, rest that throat of yours and let the doctor work,” Hannah soothed, cutting her eyes briefly to Castiel with an apologetic smile.

 

His eyes warmed thankfully and he returned to his work. The cut on her arm had corrupted, looking angry and puffy. “Hannah, pass the gauze, the wound has suppurated.” At least he was sure the unbecoming smell was from the woman herself and not the wound. It was a small blessing. 

 

Treating the fussy woman took ages, and by the time she tottled out, grumbling about the tightness of the bandage, his back was beginning to ache. 

 

The click of Hannah’s faintly heeled boots was a telling sign. Usually, by now she was gathering up things around the office before headed upstairs to cook supper. “I suppose this would be an unfortunate time to mention your brother came to call not five minutes ago? He’s waiting for you in the parlor.” 

 

Castiel groaned softly as he stripped out of his medical frock and deposited it aside for a wash later. Hannah had found his insistence to keep a rotation of his attending jackets, gloves, and masks peculiar, but after reading a number of Pasteur’s and Lister’s publications, was convinced this was in the best interest for everyone. The medical community might resist the concept of non-environmental pathogens, but Castiel hadn’t poured himself into medical school to stop questioning the nature of things as soon as he was done. Unlike his parentage, he was going to prove himself adaptable. 

 

“Thank you, Hannah.” It sounded childish to his ears to feel that level of reservation towards Gabriel’s visits, but his elder brother brought tidings of mischief with every call. 

 

Despite having a number of siblings, Castiel never questioned who Hannah meant by ‘brother’. Gabriel was the only one to have anything to do with him anymore. And while Castiel hadn’t been outright dismissed from the line, he knew his association to the Novaks name was only allowed due to his profession. 

 

But those were thoughts for another day. 

 

“Baby brother! It’s about time. I was growing listless in your absence — Oh good lord, you’ve got blood on your shirt. Be civil and go change, I can’t take you out looking so frightful,” Gabriel fussed as soon as Castiel shuffled into the room, wrinkled from a day’s work and hair in disarray from his magnifying spectacles. 

 

Castiel grunted faintly as Gabriel’s hand thumped against his arm ‘encouragingly’. “Brother, the day has been long, don’t speak in riddles.” There was no use containing him. Despite his short stature, Gabriel was a hellion of vigor and daring, absolutely dauntless in the face of good sense and proper caution. Only his keen mind for business and charm with foreign investors kept him from the wrath of their elder brothers. 

 

“You’re coming with me my dove! You need a night from this dreary place, you let her haunt the halls.” Gabriel pushed up on his toes to pluck and pick at Castiel’s deep auburn mop, ever unruly since childhood. 

 

“ _ Haunt  _ \-- Gabriel, despite what everyone thinks of me, I am  _ not _ distraught!” Castiel swapped his hand away with a warning growl, brows pulling. No matter the heated stare, Gabriel’s whisky eyes still shone without even a touch of remorse.

 

“Oh? Then you will have no qualms with coming with me then. It's been too long since we sat and reveled,” Gabriel breeze on, sidestepping him to march towards the hall before trotting up the stairs to Castiel’s living space above his practice. 

 

“You’re incorrigible.”

 

“And you’re recidivist!” Gabriel called boldly from the top of the stairs. “Now, shall I pick out your clothing like your tempestuous youth, or have you grown since the days you would catch grasshoppers in your knickers?”

 

Castiel’s cheeks heated as a quiet giggle sounded from the patient area. “Gabriel!” he hissed, charging up the stairs on tired feet. The struggle was already lost, Gabriel would no doubt have his way before Castiel was even able to sit down for a proper supper. 

 

It wasn’t as if Castiel was loathed to the idea, not really. He enjoyed Gabriel’s rambunctious company on occasion, but he hadn’t felt in the mood for revelry of late. A broken engagement would do that to a man, even if he had never loved her in the way men were supposed to.

 

Megan Masters was and had always been, a fascination. She toed the line of improper and was prone to more profanity than dockworkers, but Castiel had been enraptured. They had grown up in the same circles, her an heiress to a booming steelyard, and he the youngest son of a family with their hands in more investments than he could ever recall. She’d snuck under tables with him at socials, sniggering as he showed her a bug he’d procured from outside. And as they grew older, producing a pinched flask of bourbon from her skirts. 

 

Their engagement had surprised no one, it was just expected. Truly, Castiel was marrying well, allying their family names and procuring a strong business into the fold. Megan had seemed to want it more than he, despite her rebellious nature. Friendship was about as much as one could hope for marrying these days in their circle. It had just made sense.

 

Or it had, right up until Megan came to him, kissed him on the cheek, and told him she was breaking off the engagement. As if it were so simple. A day later, she’d whisked herself off onto a boat to Paris, rumors in her wake. He was confident she’d write upon arrival, but until then, he was at as much of a loss to her whims as anyone else. 

 

Perhaps it affected him more than he would admit, for he couldn’t think of any other reason he found himself seated in a carriage not a half hour later, clothes changed and hair tamed with Gabriel’s touch. 

 

“Trust me, this place will be just what you need.” Gabriel plucked as his deep navy vest, idly checking the time on an ostentatious pocket watch. Gabriel was the only other Novak not to be married, another commonality between him and the only sibling to have ever shown him genuine care and affection. Though, that was ungenerous of him; Anna wasn’t so cold, but as the only daughter, she’d been whisked away early into a marriage that left her bitter and quiet. 

 

The carriage came to a halt in front of nineteen Cleveland Street, an unassuming building nestled between a row of homes. It was sizable, but not a place he would consider as ‘just what he needed’. He looked at Gabriel quizzically, even as his elder brother slid from the coach and passed off coins to the driver. 

 

“Gabriel, why are we here?” he couldn’t resist asking as he exited, adjusting his deep tan frock coat with a nervous fuss. 

 

“I thought, considering the nature of your heartache, my dear brother, your body could do with a bit of tending.” Whenever Gabriel’s brow wiggled like an eel above his eye, Castiel felt the devil at his back, breathing down his neck. 

 

“Gabriel…”

 

“Hear me, put your trust in me brother. When have I ever steered you wrong?” Gabriel held his arms aloft, beseeching him closer. 

 

Rolling one’s eyes was unbecoming, but he indulged nevertheless. “May I count the ways? Or perhaps I can inscribe them so you would have a reminder for our future?” 

 

A pout slid over Gabriel’s lips. “You wound me, Castiel. All I want is to cheer up my cherished kin, and you accuse me of foul play!” He placed a hand on his breast, staggering dramatically. “I weathered Michael’s biting displeasure in the midst of a shipping crisis to see you, and I am rebuffed?”

 

Castiel pinched the bridge of his nose, praying that someone above would grant him temperance. “Enough with your dramatics, brother. Lead on to your pretense, I am tired of standing on the streets.” His back still ached from hours of attending and the desire to return home for a brew by the fire was great. 

 

Reinvigorated, Gabriel bound up the short landing to nineteen Cleveland and jauntily knocked up the door in a thrice, paused, and knocked twice more. That should have been the tipping point for Castiel’s suspicions, but fatigue made him lackadaisical. 

 

The door swung open a few moments later, a young man leaning out, looking ready to scold until he recognised his brother’s gallant figure. “Mr Novak, come’n then!” He grinned a gummy smile, pausing only when his eyes slid to Castiel. “Oo’s your friend?”

 

“This, dear lad, is my baby brother, so treat him with care! Spread the word I have arrived, and that the poor dears can finally be attended to properly.” Gabriel’s smile turned lavashous and Castiel’s stomach sank. 

 

Gabriel tucked him inside before he could argue and the heavy door swung closed behind him. The scent of spirits and musk was heavy in the air, perfumed with a spice Castiel couldn’t readily place. Raucous laughter echoed from a room down the hall with the clinking of glasses following afterward. 

 

“Gabriel, I trust you know the territories I am willing traverse and those I do not?” Castiel swallowed as Gabriel and the youth lead him to a receiving room decorated with squashy chairs and couches, trays for cigars laid upon dark wood tables. 

 

“I know you haven’t ‘traversed’ nearly the amount you wished.” Gabriel’s voice crooned low. He made himself at home, plopping himself down with an air of familiarity to rummage around one of the cigar boxes with a broad grin. 

 

Leaning against the doorframe, the lad grinned, a unseemly amount of his pale neck and chest visible from the careless tie of his shirt. “Shall I fetch the line for your brother then?”

 

“Splendid idea! Trot them out and let’s see what the night brings!” Gabriel clipped the end of his cigar, smile approaching devil-may-care. 

 

Castiel sank into a chair before his legs gave out from under him. He had had his suspicions, but hearing ‘line’ had all but confirmed it. Gabriel had brought him to a bloody brothel of all things! The idea alone threatened to churn his stomach. 

 

“Gabriel! I am a physician!” Castiel hissed a quiet protest, glancing around as if he expected someone to melt from the shadows with fingers pointed. 

 

“Well, a lot bigger shoes have stomped through here, if you follow,” Gabriel dismissed with a shrug, puffing happily as he waited. “Soothe yourself brother, there is nothing wrong with indulging the flesh.” 

 

Castiel snorted. Their upbringing said otherwise, quite vehemently. Their Mother was a devout woman, and even if their father had since gone lax in the ways of the church, Naomi went out of her way to remind them how far they’d all fallen. Only Michael was the golden child in her eyes.

 

A small bell sounded in some area of the multi-level home, and the sound of footsteps soon followed. Multiple pairs descended some unseen staircase, and Gabriel set forward, eyes alight. The first figure rounded the corner and Castiel’s nerves took flight. The prostitute was a male, a young man that could be no more than twenty years of age, bare-chested and dark eyes like coals. Another one rounded the corner, more striking than the last, and this one was nude, the full view of him suspended between his shapely thighs.

 

Castiel’s cheeks light up like kindling and he sprang to his feet, diverting his eyes the best he could manage. “Gabriel, of all the places!” he hissed, trying in vain to still the rapid fluttering of his heart.

 

He knew of Gabriel’s proclivities; it was the family’s worst kept secret. However, their station afforded them leniency where others weren’t so lucky. Since the law of eighty-five effectively slipped in buggery along with perfectly reasonable laws protecting young girls, they’d dared not speak on the manner. While it was true it was enforced on a whim, and one could largely negotiate their way out of prison with substantial coin, it was akin to social suicide. 

 

Castiel had dared to think of a male form in the darkness of his room, even briefly kiss a fair-haired lad at University, but he hadn’t the courage for anything more. He hadn’t even been aware his brother  _ knew _ of his wavering heart on the matter, but of course, nothing ever escaped Gabriel’s notice. 

 

“The pretty one got nerves does he?” the nude lad chortled as he slipped onto the couch next to Gabriel to steal his cigar, puffing it with an exaggerated puckering of his lips. 

 

Gabriel snorted softly and plucked his cigar back. “Pretty one? Careful, Oliver, or I won’t —-” He leaned in to whisper the rest in ‘Oliver’s’ ear, eliciting a delighted chortle from the youth a moment later. 

 

Since it was no longer safe to let his eyes linger on Gabriel, Castiel tried to turn towards the door. Another man was leaning against the door frame, trousers only partially tied, and simple white shirt open. His fit body was a sight to behold, freckles dusting his skin from navel to cheek. Castiel’s eyes raked up the man’s body, settling on a pair of luminescent green eyes that held him. A Fae was he, a gift from Oberon; full lipped and whispers of beauty that Castiel rarely attributed to men in such a sense. 

 

To his embarrassment, a curl of lust settled low, and he tore his eyes away. “Gabriel, what fancy took hold of you to take me here?” He wished for anger, but he couldn’t quite summon it when surrounded by a trove of winsome masculinity. 

 

Gabriel’s hand stilled on Oliver’s thigh long enough to look over. “Calm, brother. I knew you would protest, though your eyes wander.” He grinned at the rouge of Castiel’s cheeks. “I propose this before you take leave back to your dreary chambers. Go up, take respite in drink and comfort, and I will send along one of these strapping lads to attend to you. Does that soothe you or shall you disappoint?” 

 

He was conscious of eyes settling against his frock, eyes that had no doubt stared alluringly at men for hours before, and would continue for hours later. Castiel shuddered an exhale. He didn’t trust himself to speak, for there would only be youthful ignorance on his tongue. Instead, he nodded. 

 

“Splendid! Matthew, show my brother to a fine room, shall you? Fill him with wine and perhaps he will sing yet.” Gabriel snickered, motioning for the boy that had answered the door forward. 

 

Matthew danced past the man hovering in the doorway. “This way then!” He smiled, tugging Castiel by his jacket sleeve towards the hall. For a brief moment, Castiel got a better look at the emerald-eyed prostitute. The man grinned, winking wolfishly as Castiel walked by. 

 

Castiel nearly tripped up the stairs Matthew lead him to, winding up until they reached the top floor. “Your brother is a real charmer, got all the lads swoonin’ he does,” Matthew prattled contentedly, holding his hands out for Castiel’s coat. “Sure he’ll choose someone nice for you.” His grin took on a bit of an impish leer as he hung up the coat. “I’ll fetch you a spirit unless wine suits you better?”

 

Castiel surveyed the room uneasily. It looked no different than any other bedroom, save for it being close quarters with only a well-maintained bed, small table, and covered chair to furnish it. 

“Wine… would be favourable, thank you. Matthew, was it?” Castiel took a moment to fish a shilling from his pocket and pass it to the lad. 

 

Matthew brightened, accepting the coinage with a hearty nod. “‘Course!” He dashed off, shutting the door behind him. 

 

The warm lamplight flickered throughout the room, leaving Castiel to the realization that he was in a brothel, in a room with little escape, and his brother of all things was busy picking out his whore for the however long Gabriel wished. Knowing him, Gabriel wouldn’t be satisfied until the witching hour, or well past it.

 

Castiel sat heavily on the end on the bed, cradling his head in his hands. His heart still beat wildly in the cage of his chest, but there was an undeniable thrill still buzzing in his veins. Try as he might, he couldn’t say he was wholly averse to the idea, but it still left him unsettled. What with the rise of venereal diseases, oppressive laws, and general society frowning upon the profession, being in a brothel felt undeniably damning. 

 

After what felt like an eternity later, the door opened once more, and Castiel startled to his feet. Instead of Matthew, it was the bright-eyed beauty that had winked at him below, bearing a tray of wine glasses and a bottle. 

 

“Evening, Dr. Novak was it? Your brother said as much.” He eased in, using a foot to kick the door closed behind him. He set the tray down on the table, smirking softly as Castiel continued to stand and stare. “Is this your first time?”

 

Finally, Castiel roused. ”Ah, yes...“ A heartbeat later, he shook his head with a weak nod. “Not, not  _ first time, _ persay, but…”

 

“First time with a man?” the prostitute supplied with an easy smile. “Gabriel seems to think differently.”

 

This was the first time he’d heard someone in the building say ‘Gabriel’ instead of ‘Mr Novak’. 

Something akin to jealousy flared momentarily in Castiel’s gut.

 

“He’s mistaken. As often as he tries to profess otherwise, Gabriel  _ is _ a mortal man and capable of mistakes.” Castiel smirked softly. “And… Castiel, will do fine if you will.”

 

The man nodded slightly. “Castiel? Pretty name for pretty eyes.” He turned around, slipping his shirt to the floor with a practiced shrug. “My name is Dean.”

 

Castiel’s mouth ran dry, torn between proprietary and letting his eyes linger on the bared flesh before him. Dean was a vision, a true specimen to behold. He lacked the distinct facial hair that was on trend, instead, a fine hint of stubble clung to his chiseled jaw. His body was fit, though not so to be unsavory. Even more tantalizing was the fact that Dean looked to be strategically shaved, torso largely hairless but a finely groomed trail glimpsed underneath his navel, disappearing down into the tie of his trousers. 

 

Castiel’s eyes wrenched up before he could let his gaze drift any further. “D-Dean? Perfectly strong name. It is nice to make your acquaintance — oh!” Dean’s hand drifted to the buttons of his pants, popping them one by one. Castiel swallowed, fingers gripping on the bedsheet as another swath of bare skin and hair was made visible.

 

With a knowing smirk, Dean’s hands fell away and the trousers slid to the floor, leaving him completely nude. 

 

“I see I have your attention now,” Dean chortled softly as he approached the bed, unabashed in his nudity. 

 

Castiel’s breath stuttered as his eyes were drawn down. Whatever god or goddess had blessed Dean certainly hadn’t stopped at his face. The weighty shift of Dean’s phallus as he crept towards the edge of the bed sent the heat of the room up to sweltering. He’d seen plenty of men nude before in his profession and in University, but never in this context.  _ Intent _ was in the air, and Castiel could already feel himself rouse to the sight. 

 

“You have  _ Genu varum _ ,” Castiel blurted, cheeks flushed bright. 

 

Dean paused kneeling at the end of the bed, brows knitting. ”What?”

 

“ _ Genu varum _ ...tibia vara, bandiness, or —”

 

“Bow-legged,” Dean finished with a roll of his eyes. “You a doctor or something?” It was meant to be a barb, even Castiel could tell by the curt tone Dean took and the sudden shift in vernacular. 

 

Castiel shifted on the bed. “Yes, I am.” Dean’s brows climbed towards his hairline and Castiel tried to gather himself. “I didn’t mean that rudely, though I am sure my obvious lack of tact made it seem as such… It is striking, is all, in an attractive manner,” he fumbled. He’d never complimented Megan past her hair or the cut of her gown, and other than appreciating diagrams and patients, he wasn’t used to speaking on the human form with any form of lust in mind. 

 

His awkwardness at least earned him a quiet chortle. “Oh?”

 

“Yes, the curvature isn’t pronounced but, in such a manner, it is… eye-catching.” Castiel’s eyes raked down Dean’s bare form once more and the heat pooling below returned. “I apologize if my words ran away with me. I’m afraid I have little eloquence with them.” 

 

Dean sank down on all fours to crawl towards him, creeping up his stretched legs with a wicked grin. “No need for flattery, Castiel, your brother paid generously and we have a while to  _ acquaint _ ourselves.” 

 

The heat of Dean’s body creeping up his own pulled a huffed breath embarrassingly close to a whine from his lungs. Before he could stammer through another word, Dean sealed his lips with a kiss… And,  _ oh, _ his lips. 

 

Dean’s pillow soft lips tasted of tart wine, melding with the lingering bitter tea on his own. Castiel never took his tea with milk or sugar, too sickened by Gabriel’s profuse use of both. He had never thought his habit could blend to make something so sweet between them. 

 

Dean’s hands drifted to Castiel’s own, guiding him to touch Dean’s back and hips. Dean’s thighs bracketed Castiel’s own, allowing the other man to sink down over Castiel’s lap, and Castiel groaned softly into the kiss. Dean felt nothing like the few shared embraces he’d had with Megan over the years. Where she had been all soft curves and milk-pale skin, Dean was firm and freckled. There were few things other than the man’s lips and backside that could be described as  _ supple _ . 

 

Warm, slick heat begged entranced against Castiel’s lips, and his hands tightened against Dean’s hips. The first slide of Dean’s tongue against his own sent electricity searing through him so intently that Castiel pulled away with a gasp.

 

“A-apologies but,” he sucked in a quiet breath, trying to ignore the weight of Dean’s solid body against his groin, “perhaps a few moments, some wine, and discussion before this?” He couldn’t do this so quickly, not unless he was to make a fool of himself. He couldn’t just fall into a row with a stranger, no matter how attractive the stranger was. It didn’t matter that Dean was a prostitute or a male one at that! 

 

Dean eased back a little, brows furrowed anew. “Are you not pleased?” The sizable outline pressing up against Castiel’s fine trousers said otherwise, but Dean was at least gracious enough to ask. 

 

“I enjoyed that greatly, and you are most certainly… pleasing. I profess a trepidation at the risk of sounding foolish that I think wine might calm.” Castiel wanted Dean with a near visceral desire, but that’s what frightened him so. He’d never allowed himself to entertain bedding a man, not really. He had Megan for so long the idea had been unthinkable… But now?

 

“Oh, I follow.” Dean perked up, winking devilishly as he eased back off the bed to retrieve the tray with the glasses and wine bottle. Watching him turn around and catching the alluring curve of his backside didn’t do anything to calm Castiel’s rattled nerves. 

 

Dean returned, settling on the other side of the bed to lay parallel to the line of Castiel’s body. “Drink.” He proffered the glass of deep red liquid, his own clutched in his right hand. “Suppose you really haven’t bedded a man before then.”

 

Castiel took a small sip. Finding the taste favourable, he drank deeper. “I assure you, I was not lying.” He snorted softly, considering downing the glass but fearing that would make him seem uncouth. He wasn’t one to delve deep into the bottle, but his nerves were a rattled chain within. 

 

Dean’s bright eyes watched him even as they sipped, the peculiar situation not lost on either of them. “You’re not what I expected out of Gabriel Novak’s brother,” he admitted with a small curl to the side of his lips. 

 

Despite the situation, Castiel chuckled. “You are not the first to say that, and I doubt you will be the last.” He considered the wine in his glass. “Where my brother excels, I wane... but I do not need such skills to be a physician.” 

 

“A doctor! You’re a might nicer than some of the other ‘physicians’ that come through here.” Dean’s legs shifted, drawing a brief eye to his groin once more. 

 

Castiel pinked fresh. “I will consider that a compliment as I know many such colleagues.” He smirked, finishing off his glass with a soft sigh. 

 

Dean eyed his glass as well, a glint of something impish within. He finished the wine off with a sigh of his own and set the tray aside. “I’ll calm your nerves,  _ Doctor _ . Lie back.” He grinned, reaching out to tip Castiel back towards the sheets.

 

The simple use of his title in such a wicked way was as effective as nerve gas, and Castiel went easily. Dean’s hands went to his belt, making quick work of it, and within moments the man’s hands were unclasping the silver hook of his fitted trousers. 

 

The moment his prick met the air, Castiel bit the inside of his lip to stifle the noise that threatened from his traitorous throat. He’d never been so prone to vocalizations when coupling with Megan, she more than made up for his apparent lack anyway. 

 

Dean beant towards his groin and Castiel gasped, “What are —” A sinful slick heat bloomed over his head and Castiel clapped a hand to his mouth to trap a gasp.

 

“Get it now?” Dean laughed softly, breath puffing against Castiel’s fast-filling prick. “Anyone ever do this for you, Doctor?”

 

He was helpless to do anything other than shake his head as Dean’s wicked tongue licked a stripe up the expanse of his erection. Castiel hadn’t even known this was an option. To put one’s mouth on another’s sex? It was something Gabriel was sure to know, but Castiel knew only of the vague teachings schooling provided or The Church demanded growing up. His biology courses covered the mechanisms, but never the pleasures. 

 

Dean’s tongue slicked his entire length until Castiel was swallowing heady moans and twitching his hips in abortive thrusts. “Don’t rush, trust me, this is only the beginning,” Dean crooned against him, the hum of his rich, deep voice sending shockwaves through Castiel’s arousal. 

 

“Dean, by stars…” Castiel’s hand twitched towards Dean but went no further. 

 

“You can touch me, love.” Dean grinned once more, shifting his body to lay between Castiel’s widened legs, leaning up on his elbows to keep his head hovering. 

 

Another flick of the tongue and Castiel’s hand plunged into the short strands of Dean’s deep russet hair. Dean hummed against his prick, and Castiel sighed, fingers twitching. Dean spared him another moment of revelation before his lips parted to admit the flushed head of his prick, suddenly trapping him in the searing heat of his wet mouth. 

 

“G-Gods above!” Castiel cursed, grip tightening hard enough he feared he would displease, but there was nothing on Dean’s expression that told him so. If anything, the man looked satisfied, though if such was the face of his profession or personal enjoyment, Castiel didn’t know. 

 

The slide and twist of Dean’s head bobbing over him was every sin The Church warned about when men coupled. There was divinity and damnation in that mouth that he was helpless against. He moaned freely behind the press of his left hand, eyelids fluttering with every new inch Dean managed to sheath. 

 

Dean’s left hand sought the trapped bulge of his bollocks, and the gentle press of Dean’s palm to his ache had him collapsing back against the bed. Megan had been more free with her touch than Castiel had expected out of most women, but he’d never known the torrid pleasure Dean wrought. 

 

His hips rocked up into Dean’s mouth, desperate for the release fast mounting underneath the tide. The obscene sound of wet lips and Dean’s panted breaths was a symphony of immorality slowly consuming his very flesh, but Castiel cared little for decency. A priest could barge in and declare him defiled forever and Castiel would gladly burn. 

 

Dean’s hand cupped his balls once more, and Castiel was lost. With a sharp cry, he couldn’t muffle behind his hand, he spilled deeply against Dean’s palate and tongue. His vision swam, the hanging curtains that framed the bed in garish shade blurring. 

 

Below him, Dean pulled off, sucking in greedy breaths through his nose while his hand worked the lasts drops from Castiel’s waning prick. “Mmm, not a regular at any place then?” He chortled with a huskiness in his voice there hadn’t been before. Castiel had to lean up to see what Dean had meant, but the streaked mess against his lips and dribbling down his chin made it clear enough. 

 

“O-oh!” It was hard to coordinate himself to delve into his pocket to retrieve his handkerchief, but he managed. Offering it was met with a peculiar look, and Dean regarded the square of silk with a curiously bemused quirk to his brow. 

 

Licking his lips, Dean hesitantly accepted the handkerchief and wiped the remains of Castiel’s seed from his chin. “Ta.”

 

Castiel nodded, dumbstruck. It was only after Dean started to rise did Castiel find his wits again, “Would you- should I?” He floundered, gesturing with an unsure hand towards Dean.

 

“Huh?” Dean glanced down briefly, barely aware of his half-hard cock between his legs. He shook his head with a chuckle. “That’s not really the point of this, now is it?” 

 

“Oh.” Castiel couldn’t say why that disappointed him when Dean was right. The whole purpose of this venture had been to calm his nerves and ‘cheer him up’, according to his brother. But the notion that he wouldn’t be able to touch Dean in return was… disappointing. He could only imagine the weight and warmth of Dean in hand, and now, how other parts of his body might taste. Was that an act only prostitute performed? Or would that be something he would be permitted to experience as well? He wasn’t sure if it was enjoyable, surely it couldn’t be, but he was still curious. In all things, Castiel had a desire to learn, and this was no different. 

 

Dean wavered rising from the bed. “You’re a strange one, “ he announced as if that hadn’t already been readily apparent. “Not that it’s bad, world takes all kinds.” He grinned one more, following up with another wink that threatened to reignite the flame. 

 

They have more time, but Castiel couldn’t bring himself to linger. It was far too jarring to think about rousing himself for another round, not when he’d never had a strong desire for physical pleasure to start with. He’d never known himself to be able to enjoy it til now, and the knowledge he’d finally crossed a threshold he’d never dared tempered what might be a burgeoning awakening... 

 

Even if it meant leaving a missive for Gabriel to let him know he returned home and to thank him for his unconventional gift, Castiel was determined to go back to the sanctity of the familiar. 


	2. Chapter 2

  
  


The incessant tapping of Gabriel’s teaspoon against his cup felt like jabs against Castiel’s temple after a long day’s clinic work. 

 

“Must you load your tea with the queen’s ransom of sugar?” It was an old complaint, but one Castiel was sure to repeat time and time again. 

 

Gabriel looked up, joie de vivre in true form as always. He balanced the delicate white and blue porcelain on his fingertips, giving one more unnecessary tap before returning the spoon to its saucer.

 

“I see your mood still leaves much to be desired,” Gabriel smirked, taking a dubious sip and finding it lacking. Another measure of milk and a ruined cup of tea later, Gabriel was finally satisfied. 

 

“Not that I don’t appreciate seeing you, but you have been making a habit of stopping by more often of late, suspicious considering your professed hatred of the smells of my trade.” Castiel stared down into his deep brew, basking in the warmth of the cup for a moment to ease his tired hands. A manufacturing accident at a local warehouse had called him away for hours, and Hannah was still trying to get the blood out of his coat downstairs. It had been one of his more harrowing cases since he’d attained his small but serviceable practice.

 

The little sniff and wiggle was a dead give away Gabriel was up to something. The man might have an iron poker face to outsiders, but to Castiel, he was readable from across an ocean. 

 

“Is it wrong that I worry about my youngest and - between you and me - most favorite brother?” Gabriel feigned, hiding behind a nibble of a raspberry-jam smeared biscuit. 

 

Rolling his eyes, Castiel sipped from his cup, sorely needing the boost. “Gabriel, out with it. I’ve had a trying day and I’m in no mood for your tomfoolery.” 

 

Puffing, Gabriel set his cup down, uncrossing his legs with a prim flare. “That is precisely why I’m here. I thought perhaps giving you an outlet would ease your mood, but I can see you haven’t taken advantage of it since I dragged you there by the ear!”

 

Castiel sputtered, zinnias blooming on his cheeks. “Does your meddling know no bounds?”   
  
“Admit it, afterwards you felt refreshed. I have it on report that you were noticeably more amiable.” Gabriel shoved the last of his biscuit into his mouth, heedless to the crumbs that dusted his vest or lap.

 

“Report —” Castiel heard a small clanking from below where Hannah was busy with the laundry and his eyes narrowed. “You have bribed Hannah into your games, haven’t you?” 

 

Waving him off, Gabriel finished off his tea with a satisfied grin. “Hardly, Hannah worries about you too, dear brother. And who knows best than the one that has to suffer your moping day in and day out? Honestly, I don’t know how the poor girl fairs.” He huffed a dramatic sigh, draping himself over the bergere like an entitled housecat. 

 

Scowling, Castiel finished off his own cup. “If it soothes your  _ concern _ , I am not sure such a place is…” he trailed, trying to pinpoint why he was hesitant to return. He had enjoyed his time with Dean, more than he could say, but it still felt peculiar to him to pay for a lover. 

 

“Come now, you’re a physician. Surely you know men have needs that must be met.” Gabriel snorted. 

 

Castiel cast a derisive eye over the low coffee table as he retrieved a biscuit from the tiered plate of sweets Hannah kept in stock especially for Gabriel’s visits. How Gabriel wasn’t a fat cherub of a dandy, Castiel didn’t know. 

 

“You know I don’t think such things. While I agree a certain level of… activity is fruitful for most parties, I don’t think it medically necessary.” A mindset that had earned him quite the ribbing in University, but he’d gone through most of his young adult life without lover or self touch and had suffered no ill side effects. He often found himself at odds with most of his community, but he preferred the ‘radical’ to stagnation. 

 

“Though...” “ His pause piqued Gabriel’s attention.

 

“...Though?” Gabriel sat up a bit.

 

“Perhaps I would be willing to return, provided the same man, Dean, entertain me again. I don’t think I could stand meeting with someone new every time.” Castiel nearly shuddered at the thought. Something about Dean’s genial nature and the way Dean had looked so surprised at every word that had left his mouth made Castiel miss his attentions. Or rather, he truly wished to speak to the man again, and the prospect of something more intimate merely felt an anxious bonus. 

 

Popping up, Gabriel hurriedly brushed the crumbs from his frock in a cascade to the rug below. “Wonderful! I knew you would come around. Come, before you change your mind.” 

 

“Now?” Castiel fumbled with his cup as he stood. “Gabriel I didn’t mean —”

 

“Yes, now! I can feel your excuse on your lips already.” 

 

There were times that Castiel was truly thankful for his brother’s attentiveness, but now was not one of them. Bees hummed in his stomach the entire carriage ride, even though he knew what to expect. Perhaps the knowing was what made his trepidation so acute this time. The little flashes of mischievous green and the recollection of perfumed flesh made him embarrassingly aware of his lower extremities, far before it was proper. The situation was only made worse by his brother’s convivial humming next to him. 

 

Smirking, Gabriel ran a gloved hand through his deep honey hair. “I can hear the rattling of your fretfulness and it’s dampening  _ my  _ anticipation. You are the only one I know, Castiel, that  _ worries _ before the prospect of making a stitch.”

 

“I don’t see how you can be so insouciant,” Castiel pouted, leaning heavily against the bench as he fretted with the button of his plain vest. “It is one thing for a doctor to be found in such a place, but a barrister of your profile? Gabriel, have you given any due consideration to the ramifications of it all? Or are you too concerned with the state of your trousers!” Despite his misgivings, his huffing ended with a harsh whisper, too aware of the carriage driver only a wall away. 

 

His worries were met with a callow eyeroll. “Better men than I have passed over the Cleveland Street threshold. Moreover, it is my station that assures me my comfort. You forget what family you’re from, brother. Like it or not, you’re a part of the so-called peerage.” A seldom heard bitterness worked its way into Gabriel’s tone. While his brother was more free-spirited than the rest of their siblings, he had still fallen into his roll instead of diverging. Castiel wasn’t sure how he’d managed to be the one to step outside of the wrought iron fences and deviated from his assigned path, but here he was, a doctor in a long line of barristers and judges. 

 

There was little time for voicing further displeasure as they came to a halt in front of a familiar building looming on Cleveland Street. 

 

“Well, hurry up,” Gabriel prompted, elbowing him boorishly in the side until he slid from his seat and to the streets. 

 

Accompanying Gabriel anywhere felt like a dance he was unable to keep time with; all flurries of grand gestures, fast words, and roguish smiles. Gabriel was treated like a king or louse, depending on a person’s tolerance for the grandeur, but here he was royalty.

 

In little time at all they were seated and plied with wine as Gabriel asked after a few names Castiel didn’t recognise, and one he did. Hearing that Dean was available for the evening pleased Gabriel more than it did Castiel, and the wink his elder brother sent his way did nothing to lift Castiel’s moods. 

 

“Well look who returned to see me.” The smooth voice from the doorway slid against Castiel’s skin, recalling iniquity melded with deep wine. 

 

Castiel looked up from his glare across the table, falling on Dean who took roost in the same position he had the first time Castiel laid eyes on him. A casual lean against the doorframe, clad only in a pair of trousers, hair tousled with a crooked grin. 

 

He swallowed, rising slowly to his feet. “Ah, good evening.” Ignoring his brother’s snickering, Castiel approached, conscious of Dean’s emerald eyes watching his every move. 

 

“Good evening,” Dean humoured him with a small chuckle, “this way, Doctor.” Dimples dented his cheeks as he turned to start up the stairs, the swing of his hips as he walked lurid in their own right. 

 

Dean didn’t look at him until they entered the room, motioning to a tray of wine and nibbles. ”I recalled you enjoy something to steady your nerves? Unless you find yourself amorous.” He quirked a brow, tittering as the casual comment brought an air of embarrassment from Castiel.

 

“I would be grateful for a moment of your time- that is, like this,” Castiel managed, gesturing vaguely to their state of dress.

 

“Alright, though I suggest maybe removing your jacket and shoes. No use wrinkling them.” Dean teased as he brought the tray to the bed, slipping onto the duvet like a cat on the prowl, even with something so innocuous as refreshments. 

 

Castiel obliged, shedding his jacket to the chair and slipping out of his polished shoes. “It must seem puerile of me to have such reservations.” He sat on the bed with far less grace.

 

Dean paused pouring their cups. “While unusual, I don’t find it puerile,” he admitted in a tone softer than Castiel expected. “I didn’t think you would return.”

 

Blanching, Castiel accepted his glass and took a small sip. “Admittedly, I might not have. I find myself a poor match to the lackadaisical attitude many take to… coitus.” He hid his discomfort in the depths of his glass, staring down at the dark depths for some saving grace. “But, it is no fault of yours of course, you are quite comely. But I am sure you know such things.” 

 

Another quiet chuckle lit up Dean’s face as the younger man brought a thin slice of apple to his lush lips. “Nothing so virtuous. The things uttered to me would no doubt pinken your cheeks.” He swallowed, brow quirking. “Unless you have sides unknown to me that I should be made privy to?” Dean questioned, vulpine glee in his eyes. 

 

“I —” Castiel floundered, caught off guard by the suggestion. Dean laughed a little more unrestrained, and Castiel puffed a quiet chuckle. “I thought myself used to taunting, but Gabriel’s vein of ribbing is far different than your own.”

 

Contented, Dean reclined on his elbow and continued nibbling at the tray. “My brother says I would drive a clergymen to drink,” At no point did Dean sound repentant, “but I am glad to see you are not so austere as think me rude. Your forthright manner is refreshing in ways not generally seen to men like me.”

 

“I have brothers as well, though I am the youngest… unfortunately.” Castiel smirked softly, pinching a morsel of bread to combine with a bit of cheese and apple.

 

Dean ‘tutted’ softly. “My sympathies. Luckily I only have the one, younger, much to my enjoyment,” Dean continued, though moments later he paused mid-sip, brows furrowing. 

 

Noting the pinched expression, Castiel hurried to swallow. “Is something concerning you?”

 

Lowering the glass, Dean sat up a little. “Not so concerning as disarming. You do have a deception, Doctor. Not even confession can pry words from me unaware, but scant minutes with you and I say more than intended.” 

 

Coloring, Castiel set his glass on the tray. “Apologies, I did not mean to pry.”

 

“No, I am the one who started it, much to my surprise. You are an undemanding conversationalist, too much so. It is easy to converse with you,” Dean admitted, the first note of timidness leaking into his posture.

 

“Oh,” Castiel blinked, a bloom of warmth nestling within,”I have heard that before, though not so kindly. My mother often sited me a peculiar boy, too observational to the point of being unsettling. Too often most find my conversational prowess lacking.”

 

Dean sat up fully, crossing his legs so that only the tray was between them. “I don’t think it peculiar. Not to give offense, but men of your station are too exacting more often than not.” A small smirk curled his lips. “I would think it better to be quiet than brass.”

 

At a loss for what to do, Castiel picked his glass back up and rolled it slowly at his fingertips. “Thank you, that is very kind, but I’m afraid such a disposition has been fraught with… circumstances.”

 

When it became apparent Castiel was hesitant to continue, Dean smiled. “Who better to share with than a bedfellow?” 

 

The grin was infectious, and Castiel felt a bit more emboldened. “”I am the product of a recent broken engagement, to which my brother’s cure was this foray into —” Castiel gestured to the room around them.

 

“A broken engagement? What made you do it?” Dean asked, resuming their late night luncheon.

 

Snorting softly, Castiel shook his head.”You misunderstand, it was not I who broke the engagement, but my betrothed.” The look of realization on Dean’s face was one Castiel was used to by now. “Do not pity me, for it was not so traumatizing. Megan was a lovely friend and a long-time confidant. Perhaps I should have known, her wild nature is what made her so intriguing. It wasn’t long before the expected bored her and she absconded with a rumoured lover.” He shrugged.

 

“Still, I’m surprised. You don’t often hear of a woman being the one to be the cheat.” Dean’s eyes widened. “Pardon my frankness, of course.”

 

Despite the topic, Castiel laughed. “It’s quite alright. I’ve heard far worse from my maid… But, the nature of our engagement is what makes all this so painfully artless. She was the only one I’ve shared my bed with.”

 

Dean’s expression softened, and he nodded. “It’s a shame that, but you say you’ve not got the morbs over it?” 

 

The more they talked the more Castiel realized Dean was prone to falling into a different venacular the more comfortable he was. A more distinct bit of East London leaked into Dean’s voice as he leaned into the story, head cocked curiously. It only made Castiel want to know the ‘whys’ and ‘hows’ even more. 

 

“No, as I said, Megan was a dear friend, but even such, there was never anything between us. Nothing that made me so… beguiled.” Castiel didn’t expect Dean to break into a quiet giggle.

 

“Beguiled? As in love?” Dean questioned, his delight only deepening at Castiel bewildered nod. “You are a curious one. You don’t hear men on about ardor unless they’re poets or playwrights.” 

 

Castiel’s ease soured, and his next pull of wine was taken with a little more purpose. “I don’t find it so unconventional that a man would care whom they were to spend the rest of their lives with. Why should I feel any less concern past surface visage or pedigree?” he challenged.

 

Dean’s laughter sobered as he peered critically at his obviously perturbed client. “Steady, I truly meant no harm… It is surprising, but not unsavory.” He frowned softly, but if he was truly repentant Castiel couldn’t place. 

 

The longer Castiel met Dean’s faze, the more he thought that the prostitute wasn’t quite as assured as he acted. Dean’s eyes broke from his after it was apparent Castiel wasn’t going to look away first. 

 

Dean reached out, taking the wine glass from Castiel’s hand and setting it on the tray. He bent over the side of the bed to deposit the tray on the floor, affording Castiel a generous look at the way his muscles pulled when he stretched. 

 

“Dean?” Castiel inquired, unable to tear his eyes away as Dean straightened. 

 

“The last night we shared together you stayed tragically clothed,” Dean smirked, closing the distance between them on his hands and knees. “Tonight will be different.” His hands raised to Castiel’s buttons, but there was still an air of question to his expression, as if he wouldn’t truly press if Castiel refused. 

 

Castiel’s eyes raked down Dean’s bare chest, briefly imagining the sensation of their skin meeting. Fire lit his core and he nodded, the first pop of his buttons drawing a soft inhale. 

 

“Good.” Dean grinned, falling on the buttons with renewed determination. He made quick work of baring Castiel’s chest, a low hum of satisfaction in his throat as his fingers tracked down a surprisingly fit torso. “You keep yourself well, Doctor.” His brow quirked roguishly.

 

Shifting his shoulders, Castiel let his shirt fall to the side. “I enjoy the sun and sport, when time allows,” he explained with pink cheeks, breath fluttering as Dean’s hands traced his pecs and abdomen. 

 

“And this?” Dean’s fingers paused on a long scar against his right side, faintly puffy from difficult healing. 

 

Castiel looked down at the scar tissue stark against his pale olive skin. “Horse riding accident. I was bucked when my brother Lucifer spooked my horse and landed on a gardening implement. It was a… frightful injury. I spent nearly a month in bed fighting off infection, but it was thanks to a dutiful doctor that I survived. Such is why I wanted to go into medicine,” Castiel explained, a near look of fondness cast towards the otherwise daunting looking scar. 

 

Dean’s fingers lingered, thumbing over the raised edges with a small hum. “Do you want to fuck me, Doctor?” he asked so suddenly Castiel nearly choked.

 

“I —" Castiel faltered, feeling his heart quicken. “I know the mechanics of… two men laying with one another, but I have never - I don’t know how —"

 

The grin that split Dean’s lips was blinding. “Don’t worry, I’ll show you.” He chuckled, leaning back to stand on the bed so Castiel could get an eyeful of him slowly stripping off his trousers with a tantalizing roll of his freckled body. 

 

Unlike last time, Castiel was offered a full view of a place he’d only seen with medical discretion before. There was little hope for him this time to look at Dean with any form of detachment, not when the pinked, weighted bob of his prick was so tantalizingly close. 

 

Lava fast pooled in his gut, and he made for his trousers with faintly quivering hands. 

 

“Allow me love, sit back,” Dean instructed, lowering himself down on the bed to press his hand to Castiel’s chest. Dean guided him back until he sat up against the headboard, and Dean’s hands drifted once more. 

 

Watching Dean work the fly of his pants open was art before his eyes. Dean’s back dipped to allow the pert, round mound of his buttocks to catch Castiel’s eyes as Dean leaned forward to mouth Castiel’s lower stomach. 

 

“Let’s get these off, “ Dean murmured against Castiel’s skin as he hooked his fingers in the band of Castiel’s trousers and underclothes. Castiel leaned back enough to allow Dean to undress him, a testament to his distraction that Castiel allowed Dean to carelessly deposit his clothing at the end of the bed instead of wanting to take time to fold them. He would deal with creased clothing later. 

 

“Blessed weren’t you, Doctor?” Dean teased softly, looking down at Castiel’s crotch with a hellfire expression. “Think I’m going to enjoy this. Stay there.” Dean parted from the bed long enough to retrieve a bottle of oil from the nightstand.

 

Dean opened the bottle, the scent of almond oil blooming in the air. “Not like a jam, have to get myself open for you,” he explained, going to pour the liquid on his palm before Castiel reached out to stop him. 

 

“Would you… that is, may I?” Castiel asked, afraid that he was being to untoward. He didn’t know the decorum in this situation, but he assumed since it entailed relations, it must have come up for the prostitute before. 

 

Dean paused, eyeing the bottle.”You want to?” he asked dubiously. “You sure about that? Not many of your station want to, you know.” Dean shrugged lightly.

 

Castiel reached out for the bottle, taking it from Dean’s hands to sniff it curiously. “Almond oil?”

 

Dean wavered, torn between doing his ‘usual’ and going along with Castiel. “Yeah, the other kind makes me itch,” he admitted with a sheepish smile.

 

Nodding, Castiel corked the bottle and set it aside for a moment. “Most likely a skin irritant of some kind,” he noted absently, looking back to Dean with a measured breath. “May I… touch you first? Before I —?” He gestured to the bottle.

 

Dean looked down at himself. “If that’s how you want to spend your shillings…?” There was a dubious lilt there, as if Dean couldn’t believe Castiel wanted to waste his time touching  _ him _ .

 

Castiel eased forward, reaching out to trail his hands reverent down Dean’s arms, shoulders, and chest. Dean was sight to behold and then some, a solid, lean frame with errant scars nicked here and there. Freckles dotted his body, little kisses of pigment against smooth skin. Castiel’s hands wandered down, tracing full hips, and shapely thighs that curved faintly outward. 

 

“I would like to try… what you did for me before. I want to taste you.” He wasn’t sure if that was acceptable either, but he wanted to try. 

 

Before him, Dean’s prick twitched, and Dean sucked in a small breath. “Y-yeah, if you want,” he murmured airily, watching in fascination as Castiel sat up to switch their positions. 

 

“I am sure I won’t have a flare for it you do… but…” Castiel sank down on the bed between Dean’s legs, mirroring the position Dean had taken the time before. 

 

Castiel took in the growing swell of Dean’s girth, tongue peeking out to wet his lips. This was daunting in ways, but it still felt overwhelmingly arousing. Not at all what he’d felt when Meg had worked him to stiffness to couple with her. Being with Dean felt effortless rather than a faintly anxiety-inducing task.    
  
He leaned forward, timidly taking his first lick against Dean’s shaft. The immediate taste of masculine musk and soap melded on his tongue, clean but with the undeniable taste of a  _ human _ within. Whoever ran the establishment must insist their ‘staff’ stay well washed between clients, fitting for Gabriel’s tastes. 

 

He took a bolder taste, tongue brushing Dean’s rosey head. A soft gasp above him drew Castiel’s eyes up, meeting Dean who watched him with a quiet wonder. 

 

Timidly, Castiel parted his lips to permit the tip of Dean’s prick into his mouth, immediately struck as the pure taste of  _ Dean _ filled his mouth. The longer his tongue hesitantly slid against Dean’s skin, the larger he grew, until Castiel had to wiggle closer to keep Dean in his mouth. 

 

Dean quietly cussed above him, hand trailing down to card through Castiel’s wild hair. “You don’t have to — ah, keep going.” 

 

Castiel leaned up with a smirk, raising a hand to wrap around Dean’s arousal with a reverent fascination. “Dean, I intend to with full enjoyment… this is just new,” he assured, sliding his fingers up Dean’s shaft, marveling at the searing heat. 

 

Dean moaned softly, rolling his hips swallowly into the touch. “Not used to-to someone like you touching me.”

 

Something about that made a tinge of acidity pool in Castiel’s stomach. Why would anyone have such reservations against touching Dean? Furthermore, ‘someone like him’? Castiel couldn’t imagine coming here, pinning someone down, and rutting them like an animal until he was sated. The idea alone was… horrifying. Not even prostitutes should be treated as breed sows. 

 

His lips fell back on Dean, tasting and savouring the uniqueness of the experience. His own prick felt insistent, trapped between his stomach and the bed, but for now he was content was this. 

 

He tried sinking lower, but found that halfway down his throat protested the invasion, and he was forced to pull back up once more. A small burst of slick coated his tongue, a pooling of pre ejaculate that sent a fresh surge of desire to his groin. 

 

“Doctor, please.” Dean bit his lower lip, grasping the bottle back up to hold out to him. 

 

Castiel pulled off with such a slick parting that the vulgarity burned hot down his cheeks and neck. “Yes, I, of course.” He sat up on his knees, licking away a pooling of saliva at the corner of his lips. 

 

He watched as Dean sank lower on the bed, pulling his legs up a bit and reaching between his legs to cup the weight of his bollocks and drawing them up. There before him was Dean holding himself for Castiel’s taking, hole twitching invitingly. 

 

Castiel’s pupils blew wide, and he fumbled to uncork the bottle. “How —?”

 

“Start slow, two fingers,” Dean instructed, pink tongue wetting his lips as he watched Castiel coat his index and middle finger with the faintly sweet oil. 

 

Nodding dumbly, Castiel took a moment to recap the bottle with one hand. The first touch against Dean’s dusky pink hole felt as if the room had swelled with heat, the weight of the sun bearing down on them until Castiel felt as if he might burst into flame. 

 

He hadn’t the courage to immediately delve inside, instead continued rubbing against the tight ring of muscle, slicking Dean up until the oil warmed. Dean sighed below him, rosey prick twitching from the touch. It didn’t look like something enjoyable, but the expression on Dean’s face said otherwise. 

 

The first breech nearly caused Castiel to bite through his lip. Dean’s hole closed around his fingers, pulling him greedily inside. For the heat of his skin, his insides were flames. Castiel shuddered under the pull of his lust, reaching with his free hand to put a hand on Dean’s knee to steady himself. 

 

Dean was easier to work into than Castiel expected, but considering his profession, he figured he was not the first to enter Dean this night. 

 

“Another, “ Dean insisted below him, thumbing over the taught handful of his bollocks with a hitched breath. 

 

Castiel’s ring finger joined, and his desire mounted until he felt dizzy with it. “You feel… scorching.” He breathed in fascination. 

 

Dean’s eyes flicked down, watching Castiel. “Mmm, you look nice like that Doctor. I’ll admit to lyin’ to you a bit. Most men just slick up and enter but- ahh, I figured you’d want to do this…” There was a hint of something in the playfulness, a bit of fear that the lie would prove the breaking point for the ease of the night. 

 

“That sounds painful,” Castiel replied, brows climbing. He knew the human body, and thinking of taking a man so abruptly was unsettling. He had been cautious even with Megan, despite her insistence. He didn’t enjoy the idea of hurting someone. He was a  _ healer _ !

 

Dean broke into soft chortles, stretching his arms above his head. “You’re a strange one,” he murmured fondly. “You can come at me then, that’s enough,” he insisted, the creeping accent of the streets growing into his carefully cultivated ‘gentlemen’ speech. 

 

Castiel was almost wont to withdraw, but the ache in his groin was undeniable. He wanted to feel the heat of Dean’s body around him, and he might have rushed to uncap the bottle of oil in his desire. Another measure of oil over his rigidity, and Castiel settled between Dean’s legs, looking down between them were they were so close to melding, but not quite. 

 

“I won’t hurt you?” Castiel asked. Logically he knew the body’s anatomy had a fascinating elasticity, but seeing his arousal against Dean’s slicked hole, it felt doubtful. 

 

Dean grinned, turning his face towards the pillow, rose deepening on his cheeks. “Doctor —"   
  
“Castiel, “ Castiel insisted, ducking his head lightly, “I hear ‘Doctor’ day in and out from patients and I…” he trailed, hoping Dean understood. Part of him wondered if Dean had even remembered his name before this. 

 

Dean nodded slowly, huffing another chuckle. “’s a bit of a mouthful to yell, Cas instead?” he asked, rolling his hips so his cleft dragged invitingly against Castiel. “You’re something of a stallion, but I can take you. You won’t hurt me.” 

 

Something in the nickname fizzled through his brain like spark to gunpowder. He was used to childish names from Gabriel, or degrabing ones from his elder brothers, but no one had bestowed a nickname on him in a fond manner not meant to rile him to frustration. Not to mention the insinuation of  _ yelling _ it. 

 

“Yes, that’s… quite acceptable,” Castiel managed, reaching down to grip himself steady. 

 

Carefully, he eased forward, and the first press of him entering into Dean stalled the breath in his lungs. Admitting the thickness of his ridge was met with a brief resistance until he slipped into place within, Dean closing around him with a heat that was dizzying. 

 

“O-oh.”

 

“Like it then?” Dean’s grin broke into a gasp as Castiel slid deeper, back arching. “That’s it.”

 

It felt like an eternity before their bodies met flush, and Castiel moved to plant his hands near Dean’s shoulders. He stared down at the man below him, taking in his flushed cheeks, and the shine of his lips. 

 

Before another quip could escape Dean’s lips, Castiel leaned down to capture them in a kiss. Dean momentarily tensed at the sudden meeting, but another shallow grind of Castiel’s hips had him melting into the slide of lips readily. 

 

Dean’s legs closed around his waist, and their tongues slid together, sharing the taste of Dean between their tongues. 

 

It was ages before Castiel gathered the courage to move, but once he began he was lost to it. He moaned against Dean’s lips, rolling his hips to slide halfway out before locking back to the root once more. It was nothing like coupling with a woman, and while he had drawn a modicum of pleasure for it before, this was awe inspiring. 

 

Air bid them to part, and Dean stretched back against the pillow. “C-Cas,” Hearing his name fall from Dean’s kiss-swollen lips was intoxicating. He didn’t know if Dean had mastery over his profession, or if he truly enjoyed this, but if it was the former he was direly convincing. 

 

The modest fear that he was treating Dean poorly felt unacceptable, even with his pleasure fast mounting. Leaning up on his knees once more, Castiel reached for Dean’s prick with the hand still messy with almond oil. 

 

Dean’s eyes snapped from the ceiling to their joining the moment Castiel’s hand closed around him, and the quiet exclamations took on new purpose. “Ch-christ!” Dean swore, nearly whimpering as Castiel clumsily gripped him. Dean’s hand drifted down to close over Castiel’s, guiding him tighter, faster, or slower. 

 

Castiel’s vision swam, and his free hand groped out for Dean’s thigh, tugging him closer as he drove into Dean with more insistence. The bed creaked from their exuberance, but the embarrassment wasn’t there, not when Dean was moaning his name so sweetly.

 

“G-god, Cas, there. I —” Dean whined, worrying his bottom lip as his hips worked feverishly to match Castiel’s pace. 

 

“Dean, I’m going to… to spill.” Castiel panted, the wet slap of their union loud in his ears. 

 

Dean’s hand parted from his as he reached above him to grip the pillows. “Do it, but don’t stop, Pl-please don’t stop,” He pleaded, bucking his hips into the tight fist of Castiel’s hand. 

 

While the undeniable euphoria that was Dean closed around him drove him there, it was seeing Dean’s lips part in a choked shout as he came that sent him over the edge. His hips ground purposefully into Dean as he shuttered through his peak, seeding the man deep and full while Dean striped over Castiel’s fingertips and his own lower stomach. 

 

Slick with oil, sweat, and ejaculate, Castiel felt a sated invigoration the likes of which he’d never known. He collapsed onto the bed next to Dean, heaving a steadying breath as he watched Dean descend from the heavens as well. 

 

Dean weakly leaned up to look down at himself, marveling at the mess he’d made over himself. “Well fuck, “ He looked over Castiel stretched beside him, “You  _ are _ a real surprise Doc — ...Cas.” Dean slumped back down, running a hand through his hair. “Sure glad you buy up time after that,”“ He admitted with a dozy, infectious yawn. 

 

Knackered already, Castiel watched Dean settle against the bed with eyes half-mast. “I enjoy hearing you speak like that, far more,” he muttered nonsensically, unconcerned with the mess of their bodies just yet. 

 

Dean blinked, eyeing Castiel once more. “...Yea?” He shook his head, eyes closing. “Queer man you are, a regular fifteen puzzle,” he mumbled, a smile curling his lips. 

 

The candles had burned low by the time there was a raucous knock punctuated by Gabriel’s usual charm. “Rouse your bones brother! I have an early meeting and might get turned from court in this state!” He laughed through a drunken slur. 

 

Castiel grumbled as he craned his eyes open, only to see Dean blinking sleep from his eyes. The simple waking of the man stirred a fondness in Castiel’s stomach, but Gabriel’s nagging wouldn’t abate. 

 

Sighing, he hefted himself out of bed and began to search around for his clothing. “Gabriel, if it pleases you, might you not try and wake the dead?” he hissed towards the door, nearly tumbling when he tried to hope into his underclothes and trousers. 

 

A small chuckle behind him pulled his eyes back, catching Dean leer at him, eyes sparkling with humor. “Graceful,” Dean commented as he stretched, in no particular hurry to rise. 

 

Castiel’s eyes lingered, trailing down Dean’s bare body with a new hunger he had no time to indulge. “Thank you, for seeing me again.” He wasn’t sure what else there was to say. 

 

Dean paused. “You’re hard to refuse.” Castiel wasn’t sure what Dean meant by that, but the constant knocking hadn’t abated yet. 

 

He didn’t take time to fully button his shirt before he spared one more glance at Dean as he snatched up his jacket. Swallowing, he offered a parting nod and fled out into the hall to berate his elder brother into silence, all the while unaware of the eyes following his departing figure, amusement and trepidation mixed within.

 

* * *

 

  
  


A week passes, and while his nights are filled with salacious dreams of the green-eyed prostitute, his days are busy and full. 

 

Castiel straightened from his preparation table, sighing softly. “Hannah? Will you lock up? I think it is time to call —" his weary instructions broke off when there came a knock on the door and the bell above it rang. 

 

In the hall, he heard Hannah step out from the parlor, feather duster in her hand as she went to greet whoever had come in. “Hello - oh goodness, come in. Doctor, a patient for you!” Despite his vows to help the community, hearing that he had another patient made Castiel inwardly groan. He wanted nothing more than to crawl up the stairs and sit in front of the fire for a few hours before bed with a book. 

 

Before he could turn around and put away the vials in his hands, he heard a familiar voice from the doorway. 

 

“Hey Doctor,” Dean chuckled softly, blanching as he leaned a little heavily on the man supporting him. 

 

Castiel gasped, turning to see a bruised and worn Dean and a man Castiel recognized from the brothel’s bar. “D-Dean? Good heavens, come, set him here — What happened?” He fussed, helping the giant of a youth in aiding Dean to get him to the examination table. 

 

“Some great arse roughed him up,” the barkeep grumbled with a scowl, pushing a hand back through his shaggy dark hair, only to flinch when he realized his knuckles were scuffed and bloody. 

 

Castiel frowned, turning to reach for Dean’s face. “May I?”

 

Dean gave him a lopsided smile despite the purpling bruise on his cheeks and leaned into the examination. 

 

Stifling a grossly inappropriate blush, Castiel set to work, carefully feeling his way along Dean’s cheeks and jaw for damage, before working his way down. “Bruising is the worst of it here, I can prescribe a poultice to reduce the swelling.” He paused to drag a low stool close to sit on. “Can you raise your ankle?”

 

“Yeah, just go easy on me?” Dean smiled thinly, pain writing itself over his handsome visage as he shifted to rest his left ankle to Castiel’s knee. 

 

Castiel glanced up and down briefly, glad to see him at least in some spirits. It made a bit of the fears of what might have happened lessen, if only slightly. “Describe how the injury was attained. It might be broken, any information may help.”

 

Above him, Dean scoffed dismissively. “Some patrons are great arseholes, that’s just how it is.” 

 

The barkeeper rolled his eyes. “That’s a lie and you know it! Bloody — Politicians!” he hissed low, ringing the end of his dark coat in his large hands. “Alistair Brooks thinks he can own people for a few pounds...” He looked fit to spit, face crinkling up in rage.

 

Dean reached out to cuff the man on the shoulder. “Quiet up. You best thank your stars no mutton shunters came ‘round after you clocked him,” Dean grumbled, no trace of the afternoonified aids in his voice that Castiel was used to. The charming lilt of his lower-born accent sounded more natural to Castiel, more confident. 

 

Glowering, the tall youth shifted on his feet. “Bloody coward he is. Just because he fancies himself a charmer, thinks he can put you at his beck and call,” he mumbled, looking a few more seconds from launching off into a new tirade.

 

An ugly, dour burn rooted in Castiel’s stomach as he side-glanced towards the man to get a better look at him. He was startlingly tall, well fit and young. He was a lad that women could follow with their eyes, and men would pretend not to. 

 

Sensing eyes on him, the man took a moment to jut a hand out. “Right, sorry, Samuel. You’re Castiel Novak right? Gabriel Novak’s brother?” 

 

“Yes,” Castiel answered simply, sparing a moment from Dean’s ankle to briefly shake Samuel’s hand. 

 

“Sam’s the barkeep, though I ‘spect you’ve seen him.” Dean looked over, grinning at Sam. “Got a good job during the day though,” he was quick to add, reaching out to clap the younger man on the shoulder. 

 

Sam grinned a touch sheepishly. “Just running numbers for some of the shops on the row,” he mumbled with a small shrug. “Got an eye for it.”

 

“Eye for it? Doc, he’s a sharp one,” Dean insisted, wincing as Castiel’s hand passed over the obvious swelling. 

 

Castiel looked between the men’s grins and eyerolls, the acidic burn of his stomach growing. “You’ve quit the youth looking out for you.” The words came unbidden, and he was quick to duck his head towards the task at hand, shame burning at his cheeks.

 

The air went still, and for a dreadful moment Castiel thought he’d gone and mucked up. Dean was the first to laugh, then Sam, until they were near crying. 

 

“Yes, my  _ brother _ can be quite protective,” Dean smirked pointedly, beaming a dimpled grin down at Castiel’s foolishness. 

 

Castiel sputtered, looking up between them. “O-oh? Of course, I didn’t mean to…” He swallowed, humiliation deepening as they shared another chortle. 

 

“You were right about him,” Samuel snickered, leaning against the examination table to gently rib his elder brother, “he is a good sort.”

 

Dean choked on his laughter, a simmering glare beamed the scant foot from Samuel. “Told you,” he muttered, reaching up to scratch lightly at his purpling skin. 

 

The bitter puddle dissolved, replaced by a radiating warmth Castiel nursed through the rest of the examination. “It is likely there is a crack in the bone, as well as sublaxatio where the joint might have popped out a bit. It isn’t as worse as it could be, and I can splint and wrap it today. One moment.” He leaned away to briefly motion for Hannah to fetch the supplies. 

 

“Could have been worse, least I don’t need my ankle to work,” Dean chimed with a strained smile which immediately fell when he glanced at his kin. “Can you look at Sam’s hand as well? He did it in well...” He motioned towards the injured hand before Sam could tuck it away behind his back.

 

Expression softening, Castiel nodded. “Of course I will, shouldn’t need more than anodyne and a bandage.”

 

By the time he treated both men, the sun had set and Dean stirred restlessly on the table. “How much do we owe?” he asked, looking a bit fresher now that his foot was held stationary by a proper splint. 

 

“Nothing.” Castiel stood up, peeling out of his doctor’s frock to lay it over the back of his desk chair for Hannah to attend to. 

 

“We’re not layabouts, Castiel. We can pay for services.” Dean’s voice was more gruff than Castiel was used to, but even still, his resolve didn’t sway.

 

Castiel tilted his chin up stubbornly. “Be that as it may, I don’t enjoy the idea of a man of station mistreating someone so. Please, allow me this,” he insisted, laying a hand on Dean’s shoulder more out of selfish desire to touch Dean outside of the brothel, even innocuously. 

 

Sighing, Dean relented. “Good sort indeed,” he mumbled, wiggling to the edge of the table to try and take leave. 

 

“Dean…” Samuel began, casting his eyes towards the door. “What if Alistair comes round again to make trouble?” 

 

Dean’s mouth opened to dismiss his brother’s worrying, but Castiel quickly interjected. “If it would be helpful, you two may stay here for the night until you can send a missive to inquire.” He wasn’t sure what madness bid him to be so bold, but he was reluctant to let Dean go back somewhere that could prove unsafe. 

 

The offer took the brothers unaware and their eyes swiveled to him with open shock. 

 

“Doctor Novak, that’s very kind of you —"

 

“Cas, you don’t have to do that — ”

 

They spoke over one another, but the longer they stared, the weaker their protests became. “Please, I couldn’t rest knowing that I was sending you away towards possible danger,” Castiel insisted. “I will send an inquiry to Cleveland Street tomorrow morning.” 

 

Dean worried his lower lip, eyeing his brother as if weighing their options. “That is… very kind of you, Castiel,” he acquiesced, slowly lowering his feet to the floor, careful not to put weight on his left heel. 

 

Grinning, Castiel quickly stepped towards the small kitchen at the back of the clinic to inform Hannah there would be two more for dinner and to make up the guestroom. “I live above, so you don’t have to go far,” he said to Dean as he returned, dismissing the rest of the prepwork for tomorrow’s hours for the morning. A rare act of personal negligence, but his insides buzzed with an unnamed excitement at the prospect of playing host to Dean and his brother. 

 

“We’ll manage.” Samuel reached out to tug Dean’s arm over his shoulders before Dean could protest, offering his support once more. “Lead the way, Doc.” 

 

It was slow going with the slightly narrow closed stairway to the second floor, but they managed, albeit with a bit more cursing from Dean than Castiel had been prepared for. 

 

Hannah peered from the back hall carrying fresh linens to tuck away to lay out later. “I’ll bring in some tea and start supper, shall I? Parlor, Castiel?”

 

“Yes, thank you.” Castiel motioned the brothers to the sitting room as he took place in his chair with a grateful sigh. 

 

“Your maid calls you by your first name?” Samuel inquired quietly, casting a look after Hannah with a note of awe.

 

Castiel shifted a little in his chair, working out tension that had taken root between his shoulders. “Yes, I — to be honest, I don’t enjoy being addressed by my last name. I have three elder brothers that are all ‘Mr Novak’, and I like less being known by my profession only,” he explained, though the dual looks of confusion as he went on told him it was a lost cause. 

 

“But being a doctor, kind of the point in the first place, innit?” Dean asked, pulling his leg up on the sofa as Sam took roost in the other armchair. 

 

“Well, no. Not to me at least. I didn’t become a doctor for renown.” Giving up on getting fully comfortable, Castiel decided to get up and help Hannah with the tea, intent on adding a drought of pain medication to Dean’s while he was up. “Excuse me for a moment.”

 

As he walked towards the kitchen, he could hear the creak of Samuel leaning towards Dean to mutter, “Look at this place, wonder if it’s family money — Ow, Dean!” he hissed, the ‘thwack’ of impact tugging a soft smirk to Castiel’s lips before distance silenced the scene. 

 

By the time tea was drank and dinner was served, Dean looked far more comfortable from the distillation of willow bark dissolved into his tea. He sat next to Castiel, looking a little hesitant as the table was set around them. 

 

“Will you be joining us, Hannah?” Castiel asked softly, knowing she wasn’t overly fond of strangers, not that he could blame her. Had he not known Dean quite so  _ intimately, _ he would be in similar straits. There was a reason their working relationship worked so well, and Castiel would like to even believe he could call her a friend, if such a thing was allowed. 

 

Hannah tucked her hands against her apron, fussing with the soft, white fabric. “If it’s all the same to you gentlemen, I think I’ll take supper downstairs and turn in early. I want to get to the market early tomorrow morning before breakfast.”

 

Castiel’s eyes flickered, lips pulling into a knowing grin. “If you’re going to Mrs Kannery’s, do pick up a few things for breakfast,” he requested, chuckling softly as Hannah ducked her head with a small chortle of her own.

 

“Ta, I will. You know I can’t resist the egg tarts.” She spied Dean perking out of the corner of her eyes, and her smile broadened. “I’ll get something nice, shall I? Eat well, I’ll be washing up if you need anything else.” She nodded and disappeared around the hallway, sensible boots tapping over hardwood as she went. 

 

They settled into their meals and Castiel quietly observed the two others, Sam trying not to seem eager as he tucked in, and Dean far less successful. A smear of butter colored the corner of Dean’s lips as he wedged a piece of chicken between a buttered roll and ate, looking absolutely overjoyed as he did so. 

 

Hiding a smile behind a bite of potato, Castiel did his best not to laugh. “You enjoy sweets?” he asked instead, holding his glass with a small measure of brandy. He was never much of a drinker outside of light dinner wine, but he had a selection if only for guests. 

 

Dean pinked, swallowing the large bite of food with a faint grimace. “Uh, yes. Sugar is, um… well we didn’t get much of it growing up I guess,” he explained with a dismissive shrug, stabbing another section of chicken with his fork. 

 

“Dean, maybe cut your food first,” Samuel fussed, shooting an apologetic eye towards Castiel. “Sorry, we weren’t raised in the gutter, I swear.”

 

Shaking his head softly, Castiel hurried to dab the corner of his mouth with a napkin while Dean lowered his fork with a faint look of shame. “No, no, I don’t mind. Truly. Despite what you might think of my class, I assure you the table at my childhood home was far more… rambunctious. Without my parents to oversee at times, more food found its way into my hair rather than Gabriel’s mouth.” He smirked before adding, “And Lucifer was more fond of feeding the dogs his vegetables than himself.”

 

Dean broke into a laugh that scrunched his nose. “I thought that you uppercrusts were supposed to be, you know —" He shrugged lightly, cocking his brow. 

 

Snorting quietly, Castiel held his glass in a loose hand. “As most things ‘my class’ do, it is for show only. Besides, I am hardly a part of such things anymore. When I stepped away from the Novak’s chosen profession, I was all stricken. Only going into the medical field saved me from being disowned.” 

 

Across the table, Samuel sputtered. “Disowned? That’s lunacy, for becoming a  _ doctor _ of all things?”

 

“A doctor catering to the low and middle class is not the same caliber as a lineage of Barristers and Judges,” Castiel said pointedly, but without the bitterness most expected. It had taken him many years to bleed the poison of his birth from his veins, but his job was fulfilling enough to mitigate any lingering sting. Most days.

 

“Sounds like a concern of the rich alright.” Dean smirked lowly under his breath with a small shake of his head. “Samuel here is trying for a sponsorship for University since all the laws passed.” Dean sniffed in distaste, annoyed that the lower class was made to jump through even  _ more _ hoops. 

 

Humming quietly, Castiel nodded. “Yes the new qualifications have made it more difficult. My brother apprenticed in the family to attain his title, but they require some many years in University now to become a solicitor, do they not?”

 

“A total of five, with a pupillage after that,” Samuel answered sheepishly, eyeing his brother with quiet accusatory eyes. Castiel recognised the peevish look of a younger sibling being forced to be the topic of the conversation. 

 

The rest of supper’s conversation was blessedly devoid of any more deep delvings, kept light and surface to allow for both Castiel and Dean’s rest. With the guest room set up and bellies full, Castiel bid them goodnight with a soft apology for not lingering, though blessedly it didn’t seem that the brothers were keen on staying awake either. Their day had been no doubt trying. 

 

Being folded up in the comfort of his bed was a balm to the aches accumulated from being hunched over all day, and once he was safely inhumed within his comforter, Castiel felt a measure of peace. The desire to stay up and read was great, but he knew he would only come to regret it in the morning. 

 

Leaning over for his candle-snuff, Castiel made for the candle. Only the lower portions of his home had started being outfitted with electricity, and he found it more bothersome than useful most days. If it wasn’t for his medical equipment, he doubted he would have bothered at all. Perhaps he was just easily stuck in his ways. 

 

A knock paused his hand, and before he could properly answer, the door creaked open. “Castiel?” Dean slid into the room, moving carefully on his injured ankle.

 

“De —" Castiel blinked, taking in Dean’s barely-dressed form in the candlelight. He had seen the man bare twice before, but there was something undeniably alluring seeing Dean in only his undergarment, the outline of him prominent underneath the flimsy material. “Dean, are you in pain?” he asked, sitting up straighter in the bed, quietly thankful he had worn a proper amount of layers to bed. Outside of the brothel, it felt unnerving to even be this undressed in front of someone he’d shared skin with. 

 

Dean chortled softly, easing the door closed behind him and walking towards the bed. “No,” he said simply, and lifted the bedsheets to crawl underneath them as he lifted himself into the tall bed. 

 

“O-oh?” Castiel swallowed thickly, shifting slightly as Dean crept closer. “Then why…? Could you not sleep?”

 

Dean’s hand raised, a light touch against Castiel’s cheek. “I’m not quite tired,” he admitted, a coy smile on his supple lips. “You are an attractive man, Castiel Novak.” His thumb traced Castiel’s angular cheekbone. “Such olive skin, rare here,” he mused and leaned in to press his lips to Castiel’s.

 

The first touch of heat on his lips sends a familiar curl of desire through Castiel, but he is quick to lean away. Reaching up, he pressed a hand gently to Dean’s shoulder with a barely there shake of his head. “Dean, why are you doing this?”

 

Puzzled, Dean shifts a little on his knees to get his injured ankle a little more comfortable. “What do you mean? You have been very generous to my brother and I, so I thought —”

 

“That you would sleep with me because you are indebted?” Castiel finished for him, brows furrowing. “Dean, I don’t want that. I didn’t help you to… to make you…” He couldn’t bring himself to finish, the lust fast fizzling to a vague sense of nausea.

 

“I don’t understand,” Dean admitted, easing onto his backside now that Castiel had rebuked him. “Why would you aid us then?”

 

Castiel loosely gripped the sheets in his hand, worrying the fine fabric at his fingertips. “Simply because I wanted to.”

 

Silence stretched between them, Dean’s eyes heavy on his skin. At length, Dean sat back against the pillows with a quiet laugh. “Truly? You are… unexpected, Castiel.” He smiled, a soft upturn that left his youthful face radiant in the candlelight glow. “May I stay, all the same?”

 

The simple request felt jarring. Castiel had only shared a bed outside of his family with two people in his entire life; a close friend that had moved to France after University, and Meg. Tatter of which had been after a far amount of coaxing on Megan’s part. 

 

Yet, the prospect of sleeping next to Dean had a quiet buzzing warmth rising in his stomach. “I would like that,” Castiel returned Dean’s kindly smile with one of his own. 

 

Castiel leaned once more to snuff the candle, plunging them into darkness. Beside him, he could hear Dean shuffle further down into the bed, the gentle sound of his breathing adding a new layer of welcome to the yieldy mattress.

 

Laying down, Castiel hesitantly reached out to pull the comforter to Dean’s shoulder as their eyes adjusted to the night. 

 

The bed faintly creaked as Dean leaned forward, and their lips met once more, a delicate brush with a chaste edge. A goodnight kiss. 

 

Castiel couldn’t remember the last time he fell asleep with a smile on his lips, but he knew his dreams took on tones of green with brandy-rich laughs. 

  
  


Heat surged through his veins, melting him against the sheets. Castiel woke with a groan, eyes snapping open to see morning light streaming through the partially parted windows. Another potent pulse of fire snapped through him like gunfire, and he leaned up enough to be able to look down the length of his body. 

 

Dean straddled his legs, cheeks flushed and lips spit-slick. Seeing Castiel wake, he grinned, wicked tongue flicking out to tease Castiel’s slit. He had Castiel’s rigid prick in his grip, pulled from Castiel’s underwear, and shining with his saliva. From the looks of it, Dean had been at it for a number of minutes before Castiel had fully roused.

 

“D-Dean?... What, O..oh,” Castiel moaned, reaching up to clamp a hand over his mouth before his voice carried past the bedroom. 

 

“Good morning,” Dean snickered, lips parting once more to permit Castiel’s length into his mouth. 

 

Castiel was lost to it, bucking gently into Dean’s mouth, only held at bay by Dean’s bracing hand. The sounds that escaped him were shameful in the light of day, more so knowing there were two other souls in the house aside from them. 

 

“Dean, please-, a-ah, I’m —" He was so close already, pushed to the edge by the sheer erotisicm and Dean taking him in his mouth before Castiel’s rose dreams had cleared from his mind.

 

Dean slid his mouth down over him to the hilt, and Castiel bit back a shout as he peaked. He could feel the length of him pulsing down the back of Dean’s throat, sucked dry by an incubus with the face of a greek god. 

 

The sight of Dean leaning up with a hard gasp, lips streaked in immorality with glazed eyes was one Castiel wished to capture forever. He still felt suspended in a dream, for he couldn’t comprehend how he’d been woken up with something so corrupt without having sustained grievous head injury to conjure it. 

 

“G-God above, Dean,” Castiel gasped, staring slack-jawed as Dean swallowed him down, and sat up, the hard jut of his erection tenting his underclothes. 

 

“Sorry if that was forward, I woke and you were filled…” Dean said by ways of explanation with no ounce of shame within. 

 

Castiel surged up, pulling his legs out from underneath Dean and slotting their bodies together enough where he could kiss Dean’s lips. The salt-tang of his ejaculate was heavy on Dean’s tongue, and Castiel knew then that there was truly no going back from this depravity. 

 

“Dean,” he murmured against those debased lips, “may I again? I want to taste your completion, as you did mine.” He wasn’t sure what wanton beast had gripped him, or how he managed to be so bold before two strong cups of tea, but he could only think of the solid weight poking against his hip as they kissed. 

 

Dean sighed into his hold, grinding his robust body against his own. “Yes,” he answered with a soft moan as Castiel reached to palm his arousal. 

 

Castiel took Dean in his hold, carefully guiding him back into the pillows, sparing a moment to make sure the splint had stayed in place. Satisfied Dean hadn’t jarred his ankle, Castiel reached up to untie the drawstring of Dean’s white shorts, stare fixed on the damp circle bleeding into the semi-transparent fabric. 

 

They groaned in twain, one in desire, one in hunger, as Dean was freed. His youthful bend arched against his lower stomach, flushed rosette with his bollocks twitching with want. It was such a sight that had not Castiel just spent, he was sure he would have from this alone. 

 

Castiel settled between Dean’s legs with a touch more confidence than he had before. The first taste of Dean on his tongue didn’t merit the same caution as before, and Castiel bypassed the timorous laps he’d used to map Dean out the first time. He knew what he was after this time, and he had every intention of having Dean spill across his tongue before they were called for breakfast. 

 

“Yes, Castiel… take me,” Dean moaned sweetly above him, hips twitching up in search of his lips. It was a wonderful departure from the nervous air Dean had the first time Castiel had wanted him this way. They were not patron and prostitute here, no time was paid, nothing was owed. 

 

Castiel sank down, letting Dean’s heat sink across his tongue with a hum of satisfaction. His hands sought Dean’s thighs, kneading slowly as he suckled at Dean with ardor. His motions were not as smooth or practiced as Dean, nor could he take Dean as far into his mouth, but he delighted in it all the same. 

 

Dean writhed below him, reaching to grip up against the pillows with heady sighs. Part of Castiel feared for performance, but the hitch in Dean’s breath, and the weeping tang of him on his lips told him that Dean was at least partially earnest. 

 

“I-I can’t believe you- mmm, you would do this,” Dean murmured, prick twitching against Castiel’s tongue and touch. 

 

Castiel pulled up long enough to pant a hot breath against Dean’s tip. “Is it so… so peculiar to enjoy this?” he asked, fearing that Dean had no real enjoyment himself, but was more performative than enjoyment. 

 

Whining quietly at the loss, Dean rose his hips to nudge his tip to Castiel’s slick lips. “N-no, I enjoy your taste… I did not expect… expect a man like you to enjoy-  _ ahhh _ , to enjoy taking me like this,” Dean confessed, eyelashes fluttering as Castiel’s tongue snaked out to flatten against him.

 

Castiel’s brows furrowed. “Dean, you are some sort of divinity.” Before Dean could respond, Castiel gripped the younger man in his hold and sheathed him past his lips. 

 

Be it his words, or his mouth, he didn’t know, but Dean keened the next moment and a torrent of faintly amariodal slick flowed over his tongue. Castiel moaned around the flood, working to contain it, fearing for Dean’s garment and the sheets. 

 

Dean calmed, shivering as Castiel pulled off him with a wet pop. “Let me see you,” Dean beckoned him close until he could reach out and dug Castiel down on top of him. Dean pinned him with his stare, eyes raking over Castiel’s lips and full mouth he hadn’t managed to consume just yet. 

 

A thready exhale quivered from Castiel’s nose as he stared into the depths of Dean’s eyes. Dean’s lips parted, his pink tongue flicking out to slide against Castiel’s lips. The little nudge oriented Castiel, and he swallowed, trembling in earnest as he felt the mouthful of Dean’s seed pour down into himself. 

 

“Look at you…” Dean breathed, and they kissed, melding the tastes of their essences between their tongues until the sound of a tea kettle in the kitchen forced them apart. 

 

Panting into the sheets, they sat, looking at one another as the spell of the early morning began to wane. 

 

Thumbing shine from his lips, Dean offered a sated, dozy grin. “I had better dress.” He backed from the bed, standing on faintly quivering legs that had little to do with his injury. 

 

Castiel watched him go, trying in vain to piece himself back together to sit at a breakfast table with the man’s brother and chat with a woman he had known for five years. Try as he might to ignore it, it was hard to miss the knowing look Samuel gave them as they tucked into their eggs, toast, and pastries Hannah purchased in the wee hours. 

  
  



	3. Chapter 3

  
  


The following Friday marked the night Castiel came to Dean without his brother’s prodding. Still, the journey through the fog was as unsettling as it was those weeks ago. The greeting boy’s surprised teasing and the side glances from Samuel in the bar were a paltry price to pay compared to the pleased curl that greeted him as Dean slipped in the room. 

 

“Now where is my shy doctor? No escort today?” Dean teased softly as he eased carefully into the room, letting the simple robe tied around his bare body slide open. Without waiting for a reply, Dean slipped into Castiel’s lap on the edge of the bed and sank into a warm kiss. 

 

Castiel’s hands slid up the inviting slope of Dean’s supple thighs, his tapered hips, and finally to his broad shoulders, humming a note of pleasure into the press. 

 

“Eventually I had to learn,” Castiel murmured against Dean’s lips.

 

“Pity that, suppose that means I can’t tease you so easily,” Dean sighed softly, rolling his hips lazily against Castiel’s. 

 

A hard shiver of need tore up Castiel’s spine, and his hands dipped to cup Dean’s plump cheeks. “I-I wouldn’t go so far as to say that.”

 

Delighted, Dean arched slightly into the grind, the robe slowly slipping down his shoulders and arms until it cascaded to the floor. “No discussion today?” His right hand reached out to curl into the fine, soft fabric of Castiel’s shirt, gripping loosely as he moved. 

 

Castiel swallowed hard, responding with his own languid undulation, the rising swell of his lusts growing underneath the cover of his dark trousers. “I have… thought of you a great deal this week,” he admitted, watching Dean’s head loll into the motion, lips parted in quiet breaths. “I have woken hard and wanting every morning, recalling your lips.” His cheeks burned the more he spoke, but with Dean above him like this, he couldn’t stop.

 

“Dean I-I,” His hands began to knead Dean’s soft cheeks, index finger brushing over Dean’s hole. Castiel knew other men had probably had Dean already tonight, but he tried to not let it bother him. Dean wasn’t his… even if something growing in him wished it was otherwise. 

 

“Tell me,” Dean pressed, biting his lower lip as he ground down harder to press the soft weight of his bollocks to Castiel’s groin. 

 

Biting back a soft cuss, Castiel gripped Dean tight and shifted, using his position to overturn Dean onto the bed. “I have touched myself more than a man of my profession should, remembering that morning.” Castiel leaned up to roughly tug his shirt off, uncaring if he jarred the buttons in the process. Before he could even attempt to, Dean leaned up to tug at his belt, moving with urgency. 

 

“Yeah? Tell me what you thought, Cas. I want to know how you wanted me.” Dean looked up at him with eyes the like he hadn’t seen before. More open, more wanting. As if they weren’t in a brothel. As if Dean wasn’t acting. 

 

Dean pushed his trousers down, making quick work of the tie on Castiel’s underclothes moments after. 

 

Closing his eyes against the freedom of his prick bobbing free from his clothing, he reached out to loosely grip a hand in Dean’s short hair. “I’ve wanted your lips on me… I’ve wanted mine on yours. I want to — I want to take you again. I want to bring you pleasure again.” 

 

Sex was something Castiel definitely enjoyed with Dean, but it was more than that. The first night had been immensely unsatisfying and he knew why now. He wanted to give it  _ back _ . The sweetness of bliss. Without being able to reciprocate, Castiel felt little drive… But remembering how Dean looked when ecstasy took him over?

 

Castiel had woken from many fevered dreams, leaking and solid to such images. 

 

A noise akin to a whimper sounded deep in Dean’s throat, and he leaned back, using his elbows to scoot higher on the bed to keep his weight off his injured ankle. “Then come take me. Please Castiel,” His voice was barely a whisper, something nearly tremulous. 

 

Shedding his clothing to the floor, Castiel prowled onto the bed, struck by the reversal. Dean had eased over him those weeks ago, intent to steal away the soul of him like an Incubus, but now he held his arms out to him like a lover.

 

Perhaps he’d lost himself in the fog of the night, or maybe he’d truly been stolen away to a realm of fantasy the first night, but this night had to be delusion. Every touch, every sigh, was a brush stroke that painted vivid warmth into a dreary night. Dean opened to him, keening softly under his mouth and letting him lead, however cautious he took it. Castiel wasn’t confident in his skills yet, but he knew what he wanted, and that was to explore every inch of Dean’s beautiful body he could kiss. 

 

Every scar, every freckle, every beauty mark was his for tonight. He’d paid for dawn, and dawn he would horde greedily. 

 

Dean would say his name like a prayer, fingers sliding against his skin and combing through his hair as if he was afraid Castiel might get up and leave if he let go. 

 

The candles had burned low by the time they truly coupled, low after sweat soaked their skin, and Dean pleading threatened to consume Castiel for eternity. 

 

Dean cried out when Castiel entered him, even if he’d been taken before in the night, none had taken such care. “Y-yes, o...oh. Cas, n-no one, no one cares to make a whore feel good like you do,” he murmured, legs wrapping tight around Castiel’s trim waist. 

 

Discomfort jabbed Castiel’s heart hearing Dean call himself a whore, even if he knew, no matter the esteem of the establishment, such was the stark truth. Dean was so much more than that, and knowing others saw him as just a means to a satisfying end was…

 

“Dean,” Castiel growled softly, bending to clamped their mouths together once more, swallowing up any other unpleasantries that could fall from Dean’s lips. 

 

Their bodies melded through time until the exertion burned at Castiel’s lungs and Dean had given up trying to form words altogether. 

 

“T-touch me, touch me and ma… make me yours tonight, Cas.” Dean shivered, a vision stretched out on the pillows, rose red and glistening with sweat. 

 

The tide of Castiel’s pleasure was fast approaching no matter how long he wished to stay like this. He shifted his weight to one arm, hand diving to wrap around Dean’s soaked length that twitched underneath his lightest touch. Dean’s voice reached a fever pitch as he fisted over Dean’s prick, pumping it in time with the rocking strokes of his hips. 

 

“D-Ddean,” he warned, sucking in a desperate breath as rapture overwhelmed him. Once, twice, and a few more strokes more passed until he was spilling, filling Dean up with a soundless shout. 

 

Dean followed a handful of seconds later, shaking his hips desperately into the channel of Castiel’s hand while warmth spread into him deeply.

 

Slick, but sated, Castiel eased back onto his knees, watching as their bodies parted with rapt attention. It was salacious and probably perverted of him to enjoy such a sight, but he had already thrown himself into damnation gladly. He would covet this. 

 

Bending, he kissed Dean’s hip, smiling into the soft hum of contentment above him. Kiss by kiss, inch by inch, Castiel worked his way down Dean’s leg, only pausing when they came to the bandage wrapped around Dean’s ankle. Carefully, he held Dean’s foot in his hand, and touched his lips over the injury, closing his eyes to imagine if he possessed a healing grace that could mend by his touch alone. If only. 

 

A minute passed, and the sound of quiet sniffling tore Castiel from his flight of fancy. “Dean?” He sat up, brows pinched in concern. 

 

Dean’s breath hitched, and he tugged a pillow from under him to cover his tear-streaked face. “D-don’t…” His voice was muffled, barely there. 

 

“Dean? What’s wrong, have I hurt you?” Castiel hurried up the bed, placing a cautious hand to Dean’s shoulder. 

 

Dean’s chest hitched harder, grip momentarily tightening on the pillow. With a frustrated grunt, he tossed the pillow away, fixing Castiel with glittering eyes, heavy with fresh tears. “Why must you be… be like this?” 

 

Castiel’s touch hesitated, lost.

 

Seconds passed with only the sound of Dean’s hushed crying until he finally shifted to curl his body close to Castiel’s, hand coming up to weakly grip at Castiel’s shoulder. “Why did you come to a place you didn’t  _ belong _ ?” he cried, pressing his face to Castiel’s chest to hide away his shame. “Why did you come here, strange and… and so bloody…  _ you _ ?” 

 

“Dean, I don’t understand.” Castiel reached to gather Dean into his hold, tugging Dean as close as he could manage despite the cooling mess on Dean’s stomach. 

 

But Dean never continued, only weeping gently against Castiel’s chest until slow fingers dragging through his hair began to calm him. 

 

The candles were burning down to nubs by the time Dean took a deep breath, nuzzling his way up until his head could rest below Castiel’s chin on the pillows.

 

“I didn’t… want to do this. Not really,” Dean muttered. “I did respectable work before… but, I’m not all that educated. Hell, if it wasn’t for Sam, I wouldn’t be able to talk to all the men that come here the way they like. We’re just from East London, Cas. Nothings.” He sighed, shaking his head as he felt Castiel start searching for words to say. “Don’t, just — let me…

 

“Samuel is smart though, but we couldn’t afford much, even after a family friend took us in after our parents died. He taught us what he could, but… coin is hard to come by. I worked hard to get Samuel books, and then some lady a few streets over, a well-learned woman and all, said she’d teach Samuel things in exchange.” He swallowed, a thin, mirthless laugh huffed against Castiel’s neck. “I know it’s… swinish of me, but I slept with her. I didn’t mind it, she was beautiful and kind, but even after we grew up I remembered how easy it had been to do it. Every job after, dangerous, lousy, shite job after, I remembered it. Then some grimy to-do came around the docks one day, saw me, and offered me a job here if I cleaned up well enough.” He made an abortive shrug. “Make better money here than I ever did before, and Sam works the bar… we can save for him, to get more schooling.”

 

Every word made Castiel’s heart sink deeper into his chest, every sentence bringing a faint quiver to his combing touch. “You don’t have to explain yourself to me, Dean,” he whispered, tucking Dean a little tighter to him. 

 

Dean gave another thin laugh. “There you go again…” Another heartbeat later, Dean pressed his lips to Castiel’s neck. “It will be dawn soon, rest.” 

 

It was hard to take such a command when Castiel still wasn’t sure what had brought on such a change in Dean’s moods, but he had known since Dean stepped into his clinic that he was lost to Dean’s desires. Even if he couldn’t sleep, he would quiet, relishing Dean in his hold until the creeping dawn broke the dream once more and thrust them back into reality’s bitter embrace. 

  
  


* * *

 

  
  
  


Castiel had never believed in superstitious nonsense, six senses, visions, or the like, but he would admit to a sensation of being… unsettled. It hung above him for days, casting a gloom over his mornings, and swallowing up his nights. He longed for the moments where he laid in bed pressed up against Dean’s warm body, listening to the barely-there snore of the man’s deep slumber. 

 

Something had direly upset Dean, though Castiel couldn’t hazard a guess to what. Even the parting kiss had been bittersweet, a permanence on the taste of Dean’s lips that made Castiel’s heart quicken unpleasantly. 

 

It took three days before the mire became too much. Castiel all but fled from the clinic the moment he could close up for the evening. 

 

Castiel expected to see the chipper, if not knowing grin on the lad that greeted the door when he was admitted, but a peculiar look of apprehension was there instead. 

 

“Good evening, Geof,” Castiel ventured hesitantly, side-stepping into the brothel as Geof closed the door. 

 

“Evening Mr. Novak Jr.” Geof’s grin picked back up, but the strain wasn’t gone from his eyes. “Brother not with you?” 

 

Castiel shed his coat to hang up, grimacing at the remaining chill in his hands. The season was turning fast, and there was a bitter wind on the streets. “No. Contrary to popular belief, I do not, in fact, need a handler.” He managed a small smile to the boy to let him now it was in partial jest. 

 

Geof chortled, ducking his head as if he was trying to stifle it. He never quite managed. “... Are you here for him then?” he asked after a moment, his right, stubby canine worrying his lower lip. 

 

“Yes, of course.” He wasn’t sure why Geof asked at this point. “He is available?”   
  
Sucking in a small breath, Geof eyed the stairs with an air of trepidation. “I’ll run on up and check...” He flashed a smile that didn’t reach his eyes and darted off, scurrying up the stairs like a particularly energetic squirrel. 

 

Sometimes, Castiel envied the youth. Even if he wasn’t considered advanced in his age, he still felt the creeping years. He was nearing his thirty-first birthday and the long days of bending over examining tables were already worrying his back and knees. 

 

He’d scarcely sat in the parlor before Geof returned, slinking into the room with an air of defeat. “He, um —" The lad back glanced into the lounge, as if hoping to spot someone.

 

“He’s occupied then?” Castiel understood, it wasn’t as if he’d made a standing appointment, though now he wished he had. 

 

“Not… quite.” Geof sighed, edging closer before dropping down on the end of the couch. “Look, Mr. Novak, he won’t say why -- and I’m sure you’re an upstanding man, Mr. Gabriel wouldn’t have brought you here otherwise, but… Dean doesn’t want to see you anymore. He refused.” Geof blanched slightly, a faint look of pity in his eyes as he reached out to give Castiel a gentle, awkward pat on his forearm. “Maybe one of the other lads then?”

 

Castiel wasn’t sure how long he stared, but it must have been long enough to unsettle Geof. 

 

“Mr. Novak?” Geof hazarded once more.

 

“O-oh,” Castiel stuttered back to life, ice crashing into the pit of his stomach, bitter and sharp. “Dean won’t… see me?” That couldn’t be right. Why would Dean refuse him? Had he really done something so abhorrent the last time they coupled that Dean would cast him away?

 

Geof shifted, tugging at the hem of his shirt, looking as if he wanted to be anywhere but there. “I… don’t really know, he’s being trite about it,” he mumbled sourly. “Look, I probably shouldn’t, but I know you’re a good sort… maybe pop into the bar and ask Samuel, yeah?” 

 

Castiel gave a stilted nod and stood, barely remembering to mumble a small thank you to Geof as he walked towards the bar. Samuel was easy to spot, a giant behind the small counter framed by a liquor cabinet with a keg nestled to his right in a corner. Castiel wasn’t the best man at reading body language, but even he could tell that Samuel was in a mood. He only hoped it was removed from his current predicament, or else things were direr than Castiel feared. 

 

“Samuel?” He rested a hand against the bar to get the man’s attention. Blessedly there were only two patrons in the bar area, both too occupied by a fair-haired youth sipping at a brandy seated between them, fluttering his eyelashes at every word spoken to him.

 

Dean had never looked at him so vapidly. 

 

Samuel’s eyes swiveled and his body sagged the moment he realized who’d come to him. “Hello Mr. — That is, Castiel. I wondered when you’d come in next. I expect you heard then?” he asked, reaching to pull a fresh glass down and fill it with two fingers of whiskey he immediately passed off to Castiel. 

 

At the moment, Castiel didn’t feel like refusing the gesture. He took the glass with a defeated sigh. “So I’ve displeased him enough to make it known to you as well? Then please, Samuel, what have I done to anger him? How might I put myself in his good graces once more?” It sounded pitiable even to his ears, but it wouldn’t stop him from begging Samuel’s favour. 

 

Serving himself a glass, Samuel didn’t answer until he’d poured the measure of whiskey down his throat with a scrunched-faced sigh. “Trust me, Castiel, it is not you that needs to be begging pardon,” he mumbled, scrubbing a hand over his face. “Dean is being a fool, and a bloody cowardly one at that!” he hissed, eyeing the dark bottle by his hand as if contemplating another. 

 

Own glass forgotten, Castiel felt even more lost than he had before. “I don’t understand…”

 

“I think — No, I  _ know _ Dean has come to care for you, Castiel. More than he thinks he should.”

 

Samuel might have cast him into the ether. The simple notion of Dean  _ truly _ caring for him was like being flung into freefall. He had known from the second coupling with Dean that the man was a siren, in more ways than one, but the night Dean had spent in his bed had all but sealed Castiel’s fate. Not once had he even dared hope that Dean could feel anything more for him than the amicable fondness for a well-paying patron, or perhaps if he was lucky, as a friend. 

 

“I… care for him a great deal as well, Samuel,” he muttered. Admitting it out loud felt like a brand here, marking him a fool for falling in love with a prostitute. 

 

Samuel’s eyes softened, but at least there wasn’t pity in his eyes. “I know you do. I saw how you cared for him that day… and I wish my brother wasn’t too afraid not to run away.” He shook his head, debating for a moment before sighing. “If he finds out I said this aloud, he will have my head, but I’m tired of him being a martyr when I never asked him to be. Castiel, Dean doesn’t think he could ever deserve a man like you… And I know it is difficult, things being the way they are, and for two men, but I had hoped Dean would have better sense. I suppose I was wrong.” The youth sagged, resigned to a what he felt to be a hopeless situation.

 

“Is there nothing I can do to sway him?” Castiel didn’t want to make a further spectacle of himself, but it was hard to temper to emotion that threatened a sting at his eyes. 

 

Samuel reached out, gently squeezing his shoulder with a wane smile. “Give him time, Castiel. Let me talk to him, make plans, and perhaps I can sway him. You’re a good man. It is my best hope for my brother to have someone that knows his worth past the sordid.” 

 

Setting his glass aside, Castiel returned the gesture with a feeble one of his own; despite the somber occasion, a part of him felt as if he might’ve gained something out of Samuel this moment. A brother of sorts. “Thank you, Samuel. I… I would give Dean anything I could. Though beautiful, it is not just his visage that makes me lament his decision. He is a light where I had not known I was in darkness.” 

 

A small, weary laugh puffed from Samuel’s chest as he polished off Castiel’s glass for him. “You must be barmy on him to say such things so freely. Time, Castiel, I promise to do what I can.” 

 

There was a small comfort in Samuel’s words that lasted until the bitter wind nipped at the back of his neck. The London streets were dark and unforgiving, bleak in the ever-present haze only made ethereal by the moon above. It would be a long walk, but Castiel hadn’t felt like sending for a carriage. The cool night matched the hollow within, and for tonight, he would nurse it before the dawn could bolster him to an uncertain future. 

  
  


* * *

 

 

Despite Samuel’s assurances, week crawled by while Castiel returned time and time again, resolute that Dean would come to his senses. Geof with his small reassuring pats, Samuel’s sad eyes, and even some of the other prostitute’s faintly wistful sighs did little to dissuade him. No matter his persistence, two months passed and Dean continued to refuse him. 

 

Blessedly, Gabriel had enough good sense not to open his mouth.

 

“You alright there, Doc? Look as if you’ve got a touch of the gloom yourself.” The kindly florist from market square offered him a daisy from her basket, her chipped-tooth smile a radiance despite her general countenance. 

 

Accepting the flower, Castiel managed the first genuine grin since he’d shared Dean’s bed. “Thank you, Abigail.” He made up a balm for the rash on her arm, despite knowing it would likely be back. The poor woman couldn’t afford much, and the multi-occupancy room she rented was infested with some foul insect that bit and irritated her fair skin. Thursday clinic hours were long, but being able to open up for a little while to provide a service to those who only had a few shillings to their name made life a little less dreary. 

 

The daisy sat in a small vase of water by his bedside when he turned in that night, a quiet reminder to keep perspective. 

 

Barely an hour had gone by before soft hands on his shoulder roused him from a restless sleep. 

 

“Castiel! Awake, please! There is someone here for you,” Hannah urged. A few strands of her soft waved hair had escaped her sleeping bonnet, and her dressing gown had been haphazardly thrown over her nightgown. It wasn’t a state he was used to seeing her in, and the urgency in her tone jarred him upright.

 

“What is it? Who has come?” He hurried to banish sleep from his eyes as Hannah fetched his dressing gown. 

 

Tactfully averting her gaze as Castiel stood and dressed, she plucked at the ruffled corners of her sleeves. “I think it best if you just come see.” She spared him a thin smile and darted back out the open door, retreating towards the kitchen on slippered feet. 

 

His hands slowed as he secured his robe, apprehension churning in his gut. There were all too many possibilities lurking in his sitting room. Yet, no paranoia or worry could have readied him for who stood clutching his long coat about his body as if trying to disappear in front of the sitting-room fire.    
  
“Dean?” Castiel reeled, staring at the man he’d been trying his damnedest to get to for weeks. He had no idea what to do now that he was here. 

 

Dean wheeled around, a smudge of dirt marring his freckled cheek, eyes red-rimmed and bright. “Castiel…” He took a hesitant step and thought better of it. “I’m… I’m  _ so _ sorry, I didn’t know where to go and, I know I have no right —"

 

“Dean, what has happened?” Castiel cut in, closing the distance between them in four quick steps. Dean melted under his touch, leaning into his hand as Castiel gently reached to cup his dirtied cheek.    
  
A small grunt left him as Dean abruptly leaned into his chest hard enough to rock him on his heels. Sighing, Dean clutched at the back of Castiel’s gown, the faint quiver of his body reverberating through their layers. “There was a raid. Some of us got tipped off in time but… My fool brother had to be a martyr.” Dean swallowed, clutching closer. “He went back to wake Geof, but it was too late. The police had already come.” 

 

“Did they…?” Castiel ventured, hesitantly lowering a hand to comb through Dean’s hair, afraid that if he touched any more than this Dean would draw away. 

 

“Yes.” Dean’s voice was stretched thin, close to breaking. “What am I to do? What was the point of it if Samuel’s in jail?” He groaned, threatening to sag under the stress. 

 

Guiding him to the sofa, Castiel sank down and pulled Dean after him, gathering the younger man into his arms with a firm squeeze. “Your brother won’t wither in the jailhouse, Dean, I will see to that,” he promised, catching Dean’s face before he could turn away. “I will send a missive with the dawn and rouse Gabriel. He will attend to your brother, Dean. Worry not.”

 

Dean searched his face, mottled sleeplessness clinging under his eyes. “Why would you do such a thing? I have…” His fists bunched the cloth of his coat, letting a sliver of naked skin be seen from the parted lapel. He was stark underneath the coat, no doubt having been in the middle of a client when the warning had gone up. 

 

“I’ve been cruel,” Dean wilted, “I didn’t know what to do and... Hell’s bells, Castiel. What was I supposed to do with you?” A brittle smile hovered on his lips. “I didn’t  —  _ don’t  —  _  deserve you. Your kindness, your —” 

 

Castiel couldn’t stand it. He hated not seeing the usual spark of fire burning in Dean’s eyes, hated hearing him so lost. His hands tightened, guiding Dean to look at him until Dean trailed into silence. 

 

“I would have come whenever I could, even if you refused me, until you said ‘no’ with your own lips.” Had he not had Samuel’s reassurances, he would never have been so bold, so persistent. But knowing that they were a chance that Dean felt the same…

 

The clink of china from the doorway drew them apart and Castiel turned to see a pensive smile on Hannah’s pale lips. “Tea? It’s awfully brisk outside, Mr. Winchester, so I added honey.” She set the tray down on the coffee table, hesitating on her retreat. “I’m… I’m terribly sorry for eavesdropping but I didn’t want to interrupt… Should I draw up a missive for Mr. Gabriel, Sir?” Hannah only included a ‘Sir’ to him whenever she feared she was overstepping, but Castiel had yet to reprimand her. Without Hannah, he wouldn’t be able to function, and he made sure to remember that. 

 

“Thank you, Hannah, that would be appreciated.” Castiel eyed Dean, who looked at the woman with open awe. He supposed Dean had expected unkind words, but he’d never heard Hannah cast judgment on Gabriel before. 

 

Hannah nodded and glided off, leaving them alone once more. 

 

“Here, drink.” Castiel reached to retrieve Dean’s cup. “Warm yourself and I will draw you a bath.” 

 

He rose before Dean could protest, quietly thankful Gabriel had insisted he outfit all of his home with plumbing instead of just the downstairs alone. Having a plumbed bathroom felt ridiculous to him most of the time, but even he couldn’t argue the soothing sensation of sinking into a bath that he didn’t have to have Hannah heat over the stove first. 

 

As he sat on the side of the claw foot tub, he slowly tipped in bath oils  — something he’d never used that had been gifted by Megan — and took a moment to think. He wasn’t sure if this meant Dean would relent in his decision or if he still wished to remain at arm’s length. 

 

He silently scolded himself. The childish hope that Dean would reconsider needed to be brushed aside. There would be time for that discussion after Gabriel retrieved Samuel and they all knew what would become of the Cleveland Street brothel. 

 

“Didn’t take you for someone that had bath oils.” Dean lingered at the doorway, picking at his coat buttons. “Lavender?”

 

Castiel stood, stepping away from the bathtub. “Ah, yes. They were a gift, I would never have thought of such a thing myself,” he admitted, taking a moment to fetch a towel and set it on the bathing stool to the right of the large tub. “I’ll leave you then.”

 

He hadn’t taken more than two steps when Dean intercepted him, gently reaching out to catch his wrist. “Please… don’t leave. I’ve-” Dean’s pink tongue peaked to dampen his lips, “-stay with me.” His hands drifted up, catching Castiel’s robe tie. Dean hesitated long enough to let Castiel step away if he desired, but Castiel stayed rooted, enraptured as Dean made to divest him of his dressing gown. 

 

“Are you sure?” Castiel cautioned, once again fearing Dean’s motivations. 

 

Dean’s hands traveled to Castiel’s drawstring. “Yes, I’ve missed you against me. We don’t-” he paused to puff a mirthless chuckle, “-strange to hear on a whore’s lips, but I don’t want  _ that _ from you right now… But, please, stay with me? Share the bath.” He tugged on the string, and the flimsy cotton fell away, leaving Castiel stark. 

 

Part of him was relieved Dean didn’t want sex from him, for he was still too raw from the weeks of isolation to entertain such ideas. Yet, the idea of sharing the perfumed water with Dean felt like just the thing to soothe both their worries. 

 

Wordlessly, Castiel undressed Dean, popping button after button until he could lift the coat from Dean’s shoulders and deposit it to the side for Hannah to attend to later. There was the stale scent of sweat, bitter cologne, and cigar smoke clinging to Dean’s skin; the scent of a man that would never know Dean’s true worth beyond what a handful of coins could give him. 

 

Castiel guided Dean to the bath, sitting in the warm waters and drawing Dean down after him. Only when Dean was slotted up against his chest, reclined and swaddled in the press of his arms, did Castiel dare to dream. 

 

“...I am sorry I was persistent. Samuel begged me to wait but I-I couldn’t,” Castiel whispered against the nape of Dean’s neck, brushing his lips to the soft skin as the lavender began to overwhelm the stink of jealousy. 

 

A soft, feathery sigh ghosted into the steam, and Dean leaned deeper into Castiel’s hold. “I’m a coward.” It was a Confessional whisper, uttered to steam and tile instead of shrouded wooden box. “I don’t know what to do with you, Castiel… with  _ this _ .” He raised his hand from the water, letting a palmful trickle through his splayed fingers. 

 

“Then cast your uncertainties at my feet, but please do not banish me. You can’t collar a stray and not expect it to follow,” Castiel murmured, drawing a more genuine chuckle from the man held in his arms. 

 

“If you’re a stray, I must be a sorry beast indeed.” Dean snorted, turning to press his head to Castiel’s neck. “You would follow a mongrel?”

 

Castiel’s hands trailed water against Dean’s arm and shoulder, turning to press his lips against Dean’s temple as if he could kiss away the doubts. “Pedigrees have never meant much to me, Dean.” 

 

They lingered until the water cooled, taking comfort in cautious touches and chaste kisses. The bed linens were refreshed and turned down by the time Castiel guided Dean to his bedroom, and Hannah was nowhere to be found upstairs. Once more thankful for Hannah’s discretion, Castiel folded Dean up into the bed, sinking down into the sheets after. 

 

“Try and sleep, it would do little good to lose your wits.” He knew it to be useless to say such things when Dean’s brother was locked away in a cell in the middle of London, but he hoped Dean would settle despite it. “Hannah will send the missive and Gabriel will attend to him quickly.”

 

Dean turned in the bed to face him, scooting until he could slot their legs into a loose tangle. “I know, but it’s… I’m bloody useless, Cas,” he grumbled, making little attempt at flowery language now when fatigue pulled at him so. “I’m his big brother, aren’t I supposed to be the one there, not him?” 

 

Despite himself, Castiel smirked wryly. “Were our roles reserved, I think Gabriel would gladly let me spend the night in a cell rather than his ‘delicate constitution’.” They chuckled quietly until Castiel drew Dean closer still.”Your brother is willful, even I know this. You couldn’t have stopped him, he has a kind soul.”

 

“Ta,” Dean agreed through a yawn, reaching until he could snag one of Castiel’s hands in his own. “Ever reasonable. The reasonable doctor.”

 

Castiel bumped their foreheads together with a soft snort. “Do not be so sure, I am a Novak and prone to the disposition more than I reveal.” He was a ‘black sheep’ of the line, of this there was no doubt, but he had flaws as prominent as his sibling’s. They were different, but Castiel wouldn’t pretend to be the angel Dean built him up to be.

 

“Mmm, I hope to see it then.” The fingers of fatigue encroached on Dean’s voice. “‘Be a sight…” he trailed, eyes fluttering shut as the tension bled from his body. And after a few minutes, Dean settled into an exhausted sleep. 

  
  


* * *

 

  
  


The sound of Hannah bustling around the kitchen stirred Castiel to wakefulness. It was a dim, rainy morning outside, casting a pale glow in the room, but the warmth plastered against his side felt like sunshine. 

 

He shifted, nuzzling his face in the lavender-scented crop of Dean’s hair. Perhaps it was selfish of him to hope this could turn into a blessing; he didn’t want to risk losing Dean to the man’s own doubts once again. He knew he was a fool to fall too hard, too fast, but until Dean rebuked him in earnest, Castiel was lost to him. 

 

Minutes trickled by and eventually, Dean stirred, reaching out to place a cautious hand against his chest. “Cas?”

 

“Good morning, Dean,” Castiel rumbled, watching as Dean’s sleep-addled brain caught up with the hour. 

 

“Is — Did Hannah send the missive?” Dean managed, shoving the palm of his other hand against his eyes with a low groan of relief. 

 

Castiel leaned up, spotting a small folded note by his bedside. Reaching for it, he flipped it open with a small smile. “Yes, Hannah sent it with the dawn. She says Gabriel will attend quickly and that she is making breakfast enough for all  _ four _ of us.” He passed the note over, letting Dean touch the ink and parchment for himself.

 

Sagging, Dean curled back into the blankets, staring up at him as he nibbled the inside of his lip. “Your maid, she would leave such a note on your bedside?” he ventured, casting a look towards the door. 

 

“You needn’t worry about Hannah, Dean. She came to work for me some years ago, and while I only know a fraction of her past, she has never lead me to believe she is so vicious minded as to gossip. She has known of Gabriel’s… inclinations, for some time,” Castiel explained, reaching out to comb his fingers through the wayward strands on Dean’s head. 

 

“You have a way of attracting people to you.” The statement startled him with it’s earnesty, but Dean followed it with a grin. “A queer one, but... what’s the word? Enthralling?” Dean ducked his head against Castiel’s side to hide the brief pink of his cheeks. 

 

Castiel didn’t know what to do with that. He didn’t think himself an extraordinary man. If anything, he supposed he was rather boring. As a boy, he felt too much and said too little, and it had lead to a lonely life until he’d managed to gather the paltry few he had now. The lack of number didn’t bother him, but he’d never dared to think there was anything more about him until now. 

 

Sinking down into the bed, Castiel leaned to press his lips to a freckle on Dean’s shoulder. “I think that is a word I would reserve for you,” he confessed. 

 

A hand ceased his shoulder, and before Castiel could right himself, Dean hauled him over as he rolled to his back. Castiel settled over Dean’s body, momentarily stunned as he stared down at the quietly amused green below him. 

 

Humming quietly, Dean’s touch trailed languidly up the dips and curves of Castiel’s thighs, hips, and torso. “Agree to disagree.” He smirked, leaning up to capture a tender kiss. 

 

Castiel was momentarily consumed, basking in the radiant heat of Dean’s body and kiss. “I will agree to no such thing,” he whispered, planting his hands near Dean’s shoulders. “Come, let me dress you and we will wait for your brother’s arrival.” 

 

“Mmm, dress me?” Dean stole another kiss before they rose. “I think you just want to see me in your clothes.”

 

The accusation gave Castiel pause as he headed for his wardrobe, but watching Dean stand up from the bed, naked and beautiful… “I’d much rather keep you like this, but I think even Hannah has her limitations,” he replied, pulling his eyes away reluctantly to root around through his clothing.    
  
Dean’s deep, pleased laughter left gooseflesh across Castiel’s body. “And I remember when you blushed when I kissed you,” he teased, coming up behind Castiel to peer over his shoulder as he searched. 

 

It took more time than Castiel was necessarily proud of before they were both dressed and presentable enough to face Hannah. By the time they settled at the dining table, she was laying out the jam for toast and eyeing them with a note of amusement. 

 

Halfway through trying to convince Dean to partake of a few morsels more than a slice of toast and tea, thunderous footsteps sounded up the staircase.

 

“That is right, it is I!” Gabriel loudly announced a few seconds before barging into the living space, uncharacteristically chipper for how early it was. “Off your duffs and come kiss my feet, I  _ deserve _ worship.” He grinned, back glancing as a much quieter set of feet followed him up, despite the size difference. 

 

Dean launched from his seat, sending the chair clattering as he rushed to crushed his taller sibling in his arms. “Sam!” He squeezed until Samuel squirmed and whined. He looked a little harried but otherwise whole, aside from looking vaguely dirty from spending a night in the jailhouse. 

 

“Dean,” Samuel sighed into his brother’s hold once he was allowed to do so, long arms looping around Dean’s shoulders, “I’m glad you’re safe… I didn’t know what happened to you after they grabbed Geof and I.”

 

Startling from Samuel’s hold, Dean back glanced at Castiel. “Shite, I forgot! Geof, the stupid lad —"

 

“- Is perfectly fine, now out of the way. I had to argue your giant out of the hold before breakfast and I feel positively faint,” Gabriel huffed, pushing through the three of them until he could plop himself down at the dinner table. 

 

“You sprung Geof as well?” Dean asked, sheepishly picking his seat up off the floor and lowering himself down, eyes never straying far from Samuel as he, too. took roost at the table.

 

Slathering a scone liberally with fresh jam, Gabriel snorted. “Of course I did! As if I would let the poor lad rot in there! Got him tucked away, don’t fret your pretty little face. The whole affair was all bluster.” He gestured wildly with his knife, flinging a dollop of jam onto the table that only narrowly avoided hitting Samuel’s reach for the teapot. 

 

Already tiring of his brother’s table manners, Castiel made a point to lay a napkin by Gabriel’s fork. “What do you mean? Weren’t there arrests?”

 

“Of course there was, but only the lowly ones — No offense Samuel, charming lad you are, but easy to snap up. Too honest. There are a few more that will no doubt get out before the day’s end. A businessman by the name of Mcloud, and a mouthier laid, the blond, Adam was it?” Gabriel didn’t wait for Dean to confirm. “I highly doubt anything will come of it. Well, I suppose Cleveland Street will be shutting down… a pity. The convenience was legendary! But all good things must come to an end, and then more good times can be found elsewhere.” He smiled, cramming his mouth full of scones as if he hadn’t eaten in a season.

 

“Surely, they have all our names? You’re in the books, too!” Dean spoke up, breakfast momentarily forgotten. 

 

Waving another jam-splattering hand, Gabriel dismissed Dean’s concerns. “I snagged the ear of an officer I’ve had the  _ pleasure _ of entertaining once or twice.” He winked over at Sam unnecessarily, delighting as the youth fumbled his toast. “Seems the logs contain all sorts of interesting names. Names that are  _ far _ too important to leak out into the public. I doubt more than anyone will spend more than a month in jail, and certainly not men like me.” Gabriel sniggered, sniffing at a soft boiled egg before turning his nose up at it and diving for another scone laden with clotted cream and jam.

 

A fork clattered against a plate as Dean scowled. “You mean men like me then?” There was a low growl in his voice, one that Castiel might have enjoyed under certain circumstances. 

 

Before Castiel could interject and smooth over the conversation, Gabriel barked a sharp laugh. “Unless you’re as stupid as you are pretty! Keep your head down, don’t go shouting your name around, and you will be fine my lad. Better yet, get as far away from all that business as you can and I guarantee you won’t see a day in jail. Trust me, I’m a barrister and have laid with half the sods in London!”

 

Behind them, Hannah clucked disapprovingly as she carried in a fresh pot of tea. “Gabriel, it is still the wee hours, must you carry on after these boys have had a night of it?” she chastised, lowering the pot with a pointed look at the eldest in the room. 

 

Smiling winningly, Gabriel reached out to grasp her hand in his and plant a vaguely sticky kiss to the back of it. “I throw myself at your mercy, especially if there is more scones as reward for my repentance,” he shamelessly begged, beaming his honeyed eyes at her with a flagrant pooch of his lower lip. 

 

Rolling her eyes, Hannah withdrew her hand to her skirts and wiped the jammy-kiss onto her apron. “I have more in the oven, I always do when you grace us with your presence. Let everyone eat their fill before you set your brother to cuss.” She smirked, smiling conspiratorially at Castiel as she picked up a few plates and bustled back to the kitchen. 

 

“I guess we’ll have to find somewhere else then…” Sam frowned after a moment. Being able to work closely together had been trying, but it had made them feel decidedly safer. 

 

“Anywhere else will be in East London... think we’d avoid suspicion there?” Dean smirked slightly, looking down into the depths of his tepid tea. 

 

Gabriel cleared his throat, partially for the dramatics of it, and partly because he’d taken too large of a bite of scone. “Or,” he shifted to look at Samuel, “you read, yes?”

 

“Me? Yes, of course,” Samuel replied, a note of pride in his voice.

 

“And you wanted to study law, yes?”

 

More hesitantly, Samuel ventured, “Well, yes, perhaps one day, though I am not sure if —"

 

Gabriel waved him silent. “Good, then you’ll come with me. You’ll need a tutelage after schooling anyway, and if I’m to usurp Michael’s damnable name I’ll need bright lads who are stupid enough to follow me.” He snorted softly. “I can’t be the one you study under of course, I’m a barrister not a solicitor, but our cousin Balthazar owes me greatly for getting him out of a spot in Paris. Ha! Having you shadow him will be a damn reward to him if anything!” He laughed, reaching out to slap Castiel as if his baby brother was in on it, which he was decidedly as puzzled as everyone else.

 

Samuel looked between the men, a timid puppy despite his goodly stature. “I’m… sorry, Mr. Gabriel, I’m afraid I’m not following you.”

 

Sighing with an exaggerated suffering, Gabriel continued, “You need a sponsorship, do you not? My Alma-mater would be the perfect place. The Novaks practically fund the University, so you will attend because I damn well want you to, and in return, you will work for me once I break off from my brother’s trappings, and generally, well, you know, love and worship me. I warn you my lad, I am  _ insufferable _ and insist on at least three ‘You’re the sun and the means to my joy, Mr Gabriel’’s a day.” He grinned shamelessly, fluttering his eyelashes over the table to the youth that had abruptly been struck deaf and dumb.

 

Dean gawked, torn between eyeing Castiel for answers, and looking between the other two. “Are you — truly? You would do that?” 

 

“Oh please, you make me sound altruistic when I’m nothing of the sort! Who better to work for me than someone I know won’t spill my dirty little secrets? I have no desire to pay off the Queen’s police dalliance after dalliance if a little trollop gets chatty.” Gabriel shrugged, doggedly keeping his eyes away from Castiel and Dean. 

 

Castiel reached out, grasping Gabriel’s shoulder. “Thank you, Gabriel.” He let his hand fall with a gentle swat from Gabriel. 

 

“No one thank me yet, I expect a shining example when you walk out of there. Can’t have layabouts when I have my sights set on making Michael piss blood.” Gabriel sneered, a near vicious grin splitting his lips. “And to think, they worried about  _ you, _ Castiel, Ha!” He laughed, thumping a hand on the table hard enough to rattle dishes. 

 

Food all but forgotten, Samuel stood to reach over the table and grasp Gabriel’s hands, jam-covered or not. “I will graduate with honors, you will see,” he vowed, deathly serious despite looking at his future employer than was nearly sticky from head to toe at this point. “Thank you, Mr. Gabriel, you won’t regret it.”

 

“Oh, I expect I won’t.” Gabriel purred so licentiously Castiel kicked his ankle underneath the table to reign him in. 

 

The day had shifted into a jovial affair, despite the rocky start. Gabriel insisting on breaking out the good brandy and dictating all his grand plans to unset the family name with a firm of his own, funded by the very salary their father and brothers had paid him over the years. It was a pleasant turn from the gloomy days that had filled Castiel’s past couple months, though, whenever Dean was certain his attentions were elsewhere, Castiel spied a note of melancholy in Dean’s eyes. 

 

Only when Samuel was safely tucked away in the guestroom, Gabriel long sent home in a carriage in a drunken heap, did Castiel reach out and snag Dean’s arm to draw him close.

 

“Dean? What troubles you? You have looked distressed for some time.” Castiel slid close, thumbing his touch against Dean’s cheek. 

 

Ducking into the touch, Dean exhaled the weight of the day with a brandy-rich sigh. “It is foolish…”

 

“Doubtful. But foolish or not, please, tell me so I may share it with you,” Castiel pressed, not wanting to be kept at arms-length once more now that the immediate danger was passed. 

 

Dean moved to sink down on the sofa, tucking one of his legs up to grip loosely in his hold. “I am grateful to your brother for taking care of mine… That is more than generous, but I can’t help but…” His back bowed, and he hid his face against his knee. “It is selfish of me, but I’m at a loss. I don’t know what to do. We’ve always gone places as a team and… What am I to do now? I am not like Samuel; I’m neither smart nor capable beyond the menial or... you know.” He blanched, tensing when Castiel followed him down to sit. 

 

“Dean…” Castiel leaned until their bodies could slot together, “it is not difficult to see why it would be worrying to you. Admittedly, were Gabriel to leave for somewhere far, I would be at a loss as well. Samuel is dear to you, you are allowed to mourn a change.” 

 

Airy laughter shook Dean’s body. “Castiel, a man with the name of an angel, perhaps you are one.” He leaned back, resting his head against Castiel’s shoulder.    
  
“If only.” Castiel turned his head against Dean’s, breathing him in as the fire crackled in the hearth. Hannah’s fingers gliding over the piano keys in the lower study wafted up the stairs, a byproduct of Gabriel convincing her into a few glasses of her own. 

 

“Stay with me,” Castiel said into the firelight, staring into the flames for the courage he couldn’t conjure on his own. “Stay with me here, in whatever capacity you wish… I… I would deeply, deeply enjoy your presence.”

 

Dean shifted, pulling away. Ice threatened in Castiel’s chest, and for a few cowardly seconds, he refused to turn and look at Dean. The two months of rejection lay between them, a fresh scar.

 

“Why… Why would you want that?” Dean whispered, scooting close. “You are a doctor, how would it look?”

 

Castiel dared to turn, staring resolutely despite what he might find. “I don’t care for how it would look, Dean. People gossip, and they always will. We could find a way.... if you would have me, that is.”

 

Swallowing, Dean looked to be visibly fighting the desire to run away once more. “You would truly want me here, with you?”

 

Swallowing a quiet laugh, too afraid to scare Dean away, Castiel took Dean’s hand in his. “Yes, Dean. I wanted to have you stay since the morning you woke in my bed. I have longed to have you there ever since, be it my bed, the breakfast table, or wherever you will accompany me. You have had me in thrall for some time.”

 

Dean dared to let free the bubble of laughter Castiel had swallowed, “O-oh… well in that case.” He leaned close, placing a feathery kiss to Castiel’s cheek. “I won’t be a decoration, I expect you to work me. I don’t… enjoy being useless.” 

 

“I’m a doctor out of home, there is always something to do. You won’t be idle,” Castiel promised, turning into the kiss to capture Dean’s soft lips. “We will find a way.”

 

“You say things and make me believe them, perhaps you’re right.” Dean slowly crawled up, pushing Castiel back against the couch until he could straddle him over the sofa. “And I’d be a fool to argue against my doctor.”

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> For more information, requests, or updates, go to: http://neonbat666.tumblr.com/ and search #Neon-writes or #Neon Writes


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